G Goes Missing
by write2like
Summary: Since Kensi and Deeks are on another assignment, it's up to Sam and Anna to bring G home before it's too late. This action occurs after Season 7. I really appreciate the reviews; they're truly valuable to a new writer. Thanks to Shane & CBS for letting me "borrow" their creation!
1. Chapter 1

G Goes Missing

The case was finally over, and both G and Sam were glad that this one was wrapped up in only a few days. Going undercover was never easy, but for Sam to be undercover as a wounded Marine in the Pendleton sick bay was asking a lot from the agent who regularly worked out and considered too much sitting to be detrimental to his health. G had preferred his role as a dishonest orderly although he was beginning to realize how often he went undercover in the role of a dishonest, prejudiced, or angry man. Of those, only angry could reasonably be identified with him, and that emotion was becoming less frequently demonstrated as his personal life became more comfortable. In fact, there were stretches of days when he felt almost happy.

Sam finished typing up his report in record time; G knew how anxious he was to get out and just _do_ something. "Going for a run tonight?"

"I'm thinking I might run all the way to Joshua Tree again."

"If you do, you'll have to call Michelle for a lift home. Anna and I might have plans later tonight, and I'm not putting them on hold to drive out and pick you up."

Sam looked up, startled. "You and Anna might have plans tonight? We just wrapped up the case today. When did you have time to call her?"

"Did you think I was playing a game when I had my phone out?"

"Pretty discreet, G."

"'Discreet' is my middle name. That's why they call us 'undercover' agents." G smiled back. He looked up from his work, "It's been awhile since you've been actually active on your feet, big man, so don't strain anything.'

Sam laughed, "You can bet I won't. I'm not spending another day in a sick bed for at least a year. See you tomorrow, G."

"Good night," G replied as the big man walked down the hallway and out into the LA night.

Soon, only G remained in the bullpen, finishing his report and catching up on some overdue expense reports. The only thing he didn't like about his job was the paperwork. His phone buzzed and checking it, he saw a message from Anna. He sighed and sent her a quick text. He'd forgotten that her mom was in town tonight on her way to Australia. And yes, he had no plans for tomorrow night—but he couldn't guarantee anything until he came to work tomorrow. You never knew what Hetty would have waiting for them. In about fifteen minutes, G finished the last expense report and put all his completed paperwork away. He loved it whenever he could surprise Hetty—which wasn't often—but tomorrow he would. Grabbing his gym bag, he left the bullpen and headed for home little knowing that it would be many hours and he would travel many miles before he would return to OSP.

When G drove up to his home, everything looked normal. The porch light had come on at dusk and the living room light glowed behind the window shade. G pulled into the driveway and parked outside the garage. There was no point in pulling in when he'd be heading out in about ten minutes to grab dinner. In-and-Out sounded good. G opened his front door, and right on cue his phone buzzed again. He dropped his gym bag by the door and checked his phone. He didn't recognize the number, so he hesitated. The phone went dead. He went to his frig and grabbed a beer. His phone buzzed again. Same number. This time G answered the call.

"Hello?"

An unfamiliar voice spoke to him in Russian, "Agent Callen, it's very important that you do exactly as I say. If you don't, the lives of your fellow agents will be at risk. Do you understand?"

G tensed as soon as he heard the man speak in Russian, and he answered in Russian, "I understand."

The speaker continued in Russian. "Good. We have your home under surveillance, so if you attempt to contact anyone by any means, such as say by call, text, or messaging, we will know."

G waited. His eyes moved immediately to the windows and he searched the street for any sign of someone watching his house.

"To prove the threat is genuine, we are sending photos to your phone. Check them."

G's phone buzzed as two text messages came through. He opened them. He knew that the photo of Sam at the beach was taken tonight because Sam was wearing the shirt he'd brought back as a "souvenir" from the Pendleton hospital ward. The photo of Kensi and Deeks was taken at an outdoor café sometime in the afternoon, and it could have been taken today or several days ago. They were on assignment, so G wasn't sure exactly where it had been taken, but he was sure it had been taken during their assignment because of Kensi's hairstyle; blond extensions were a whole new look for her. The photos were enough to convince G.

"What do you want?" G asked in Russian.

"We want you to follow our instructions exactly, Agent Callen. If you do, your fellow agents will be unharmed. It is not our intent to cause unnecessary casualties, but be assured that we will do whatever is necessary. If you don't follow our instructions exactly, they will be killed."

"How do I know they won't be harmed even if I follow your instructions?"

"You don't. You will have to take us at our word, but we can assure you that if you don't do exactly as we say, they will be killed. It's your choice."

"What do I need to do?" G had made the decision to do whatever they wanted when the threat had first been made, but he hoped he might gain useful information if the conversation continued. He hadn't. Whoever they were, they were good—which was all the more reason to believe them when they said they'd kill Sam and Kensi and Deeks.

"It's simple, Agent Callen. We want you to come with us of your own free will, of course, without letting anyone know that you've gone, when you left, or where you're going."

G had to smile sarcastically, "That's all?"

"That's all. So put your phone down—you won't need it, get in your car, and drive to the address I'm going to give you. Someone will meet you there." G listened as the man gave him the address; it was not far from the Burbank Airport. G guessed he'd be out of the country in a few hours. Damn. He hoped Anna would understand why he wouldn't be making their date tomorrow night.

He set his phone on the side table by his chair—making sure to leave the photos open—and left his unopened beer beside it as he headed out the door with his keys. Once outside he got in the car and pulled out. The streets were uncrowded as he headed to the freeway. G spotted the tail about two blocks after he left his home: a black SUV two cars back. They kept their distance even though he wasn't going to make a move to evade. Professionals. G opened the glove compartment and pulled out the extra burn phone he kept there. It was fully charged. When Sam found his car, he'd find the phone. G hoped it would contain some useful information. As he reached the designated location, he turned on the phone's recording app and slipped it out of sight under his seat.

G parked and waited until he saw the black SUV pull up and park behind him. What did he know? At least one of them spoke Russian. How many others were there? He didn't know. They had identified Sam, Kensi, and Deeks. Had they identified anyone else from OSP? Hetty? He didn't know. How had they been able to identify him and the others? He didn't know. He realized he really didn't know a hell of a lot. He'd have to wait. Suddenly, there was a knock on his window. A big man wearing a nondescript pair of pants and a black shirt stood beside his car door. G rolled down the window.

"Please come with me," he said in Russian. Okay, so G now knew that at least two of them spoke Russian because this wasn't the voice on the phone.

"So, Burbank," G replied conversationally in English. When the man did not reply, G continued in Russian, "It's too late to take a studio tour. The airport?" The man did not look pleased. G didn't want him searching the car, so he stepped out immediately. The man searched him thoroughly for any weapons or electronic devices. "I get it. You're not going to tell me where you're taking me, but if I'm going to be gone long, I should have brought my toothbrush."

The man pushed G in the direction of the SUV as he spoke in Russian, "Go." Then he slammed the door of G's car shut and walked back to the SUV. G stood by the passenger door. The man motioned him to the back. G opened the door and slid in next to another man already inside. He asked, "You part of this group or a guest like me?" The man looked at him without humor. "Part of the group, I guess." At least they hadn't torched his car. He hoped the phone recorded enough of the conversation to be useful. At the very least they would know where he might be going. Maybe they could even figure out who the speaker was using voice recognition, but G doubted that the burn phone had a microphone sensitive enough even with the talents of Eric and Nell combined. He hadn't bought the burn phone as a voice recorder, but he made a note to be sure and buy another one—a higher quality one—as soon as he got back. If he got back.

Sure enough, they were getting on a plane. It wasn't out of Burbank; they had driven an hour or so after picking G up. It wasn't even an airport. I t looked more like a private runway or airstrip, and the plane was a private jet. When G boarded, he was escorted by two of the men from the SUV and was greeted by two men already onboard. One of the men waiting was older, and he motioned for G to take a seat. G remained standing and spoke to him in Russian, "I'm here. Where's the proof that the other agents haven't been harmed?"

The older man sat down and studied G before he spoke in English, "Agent Callen, we appreciate that you agreed to come of your own free will, and we assure you that no agents have been threatened or harmed. We regret if you, at any time, thought that this might happen and apologize for any misunderstanding. Once we arrive, you will be free to contact anyone you wish to verify that what I've told you is true. Please, take a seat."

G had to admit he was good. The three other men watched while G considered his options. He only had one. The door of the plane was locked and he could feel the plane beginning to taxi down the runway. G took a seat not far from the older man, and the three other men sat down in close proximity to G. No one spoke. G looked at his watch; the compass element told him they were traveling east.

About three hours into the flight, G's stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since lunch, and it'd been an early lunch. He should've stopped for dinner on the drive home. That was the last time, he told himself, that he would go home without eating. You never knew what would happen in this line of work, and it was always better to be prepared. He'd been prepared with the burn phone but not dinner. Sam was right; G needed to start eating healthy. Hell, he needed to start eating _regularly_. G could already hear Sam's lecture about his horrible eating habits, and he had to smile to himself. He had to admit that he looked forward to hearing that lecture again.

In a little over six hours, the plane landed. The sun was just rising. As he exited the plane, G figured they were in Virginia, Maryland, or maybe Pennsylvania—one of the Mid-Atlantic States. He was hustled from the smaller jet, across a runway, and onto a larger waiting jet. He was not only incredibly hungry by now, but he was also beginning to feel the jet lag. And he knew no one in L.A. had any idea yet that he was already thousands of miles away and would be even further away by the time they reached the office. Thank God he'd finished that paperwork. At least Hetty would be pleased and surprised about that.

The four men accompanied G onto the larger jet and without a word, they all took seats, the two men sitting within striking distance of G. Once the plane was in the air, the older man stood up and walked to the back of the cabin where he fixed himself a drink. G closed his eyes and tried not to think about food. In a few moments, he could sense someone watching him, so he opened his eyes. The older man was standing in front of him, offering G a drink.

"It's a little early for me."

The man smiled slightly, "It's not alcohol."

G reached up and took the cup. The liquid was thin and rather brownish, like very weak tea. G set it down in the arm rest. "Thanks, but I'm not thirsty."

The man wasn't smiling anymore. "Drink it, Agent Callen."

G nodded slightly and then, feigning clumsiness, knocked the cup over. As the liquid spilled onto the carpet, G looked up at the man and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. With the back of his hand the man struck G across the face. G's eyes became hard and cold. The niceties were over.

The man, upset that G had provoked him, walked back to his seat and closed his eyes. He spoke in Russian without looking in G's direction, "Not to worry, Agent Callen. We'll get you another drink when we land." No one moved to pick up the cup.

 _Great_ , G thought to himself as he leaned back and closed his eyes again. He had a feeling he was going to need all the energy he had once they reached their destination.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was feeling especially rejuvenated when he arrived at work early the next day. The run along the beach after work yesterday had done him more good than an extra twenty hours of sleep. He'd also had one of his favorite breakfasts: an acai smoothie and an egg white breakfast omelet. The day looked to be off to a great start except that G was late. He thought about calling him, but it was only a few minutes past. Sam always gave G a hard time whenever he spent time with Anna, but he had to admit it, they seemed almost perfect for each other—so alike it was scary—and he could tell they enjoyed their "private" time. G always seemed just a _little_ more tired after their nights together. If anyone had said a few years ago that G and Arkaday's daughter would be an item, nobody—least of all G—would have believed it. Life was filled with strange and unexpected happenings. Sam shook his head. Look at the business they were in.

"Mr. Hanna, have you heard from Mr. Callen this morning?" Hetty asked as she approached the bullpen.

"Not yet. I think he had an evening out last night, so I was going to give him a few extra minutes."

"I see." She didn't look convinced that all was well. "Please call him."

Sam pulled out his phone and called him. The call went immediately to voicemail. "Voicemail."

"See if Eric can find him, will you," Hetty instructed.

Sam took the steps leading up to ops two at a time. When he entered, Eric was at his computer and Nell was looking through some files. "Eric, I need you to find Callen."

Eric immediately stopped his current search and struck some keys. He checked his screen. "His phone's at his house, but the battery's really low."

"His car?"

Eric went back to his keyboard. "The GPS says his car is parked in Burbank."

"Burbank?"

"Not far from the airport."

"I'll check it out." As Sam descended from ops, Hetty waited at the bottom of the stairs. Her look was one of concern as Sam told her, "His car's near Burbank Airport, Hetty. I'm checking it out."

"Keep me appraised, Mr. Hanna," was all she said before heading back to her desk. Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Every day seemed to bring new problems involving those under her charge. It had been several years since she'd lost agents Hunter and Renko, longer since she'd lost Agent Vail, and even longer since she'd lost Agent Sullivan, but the threat of another death was never far removed—and she didn't know if she could survive another loss, especially if the loss was Agent Callen. Everyone knew that she didn't play favorites. Everyone also knew that her relationship with Agent Callen was one that transcended all her other relationships. She sat down slowly and silently and in her own way prayed that Sam would walk back into ops this afternoon bringing Mr. Callen safe and sound with him. Until she knew more, there was no point in notifying the rest of the team to his absence, especially since they didn't yet know Mr. Callen's actual status. Agent Blye and Mr. Deeks were on an important assignment that was nearing conclusion. It wouldn't help to have them worrying about Mr. Callen; in fact, it might be harmful. If Callen was missing, they would find out soon enough. Hetty sat up straighter. She couldn't let herself fret about the unknown. She needed a cup of tea, and she needed it now.

Sam saw G's car as he turned the corner. He guessed it had been parked here all night. He parked behind it and stepped out. He checked it out carefully; nothing looked damaged or out of the ordinary. Before opening the driver side door, he checked just to ensure that no wires had been set. Using the spare key he'd brought, Sam opened the door. Nothing seemed out of place. Why had G parked here? Sam checked the car and reached under the driver's seat. His fingers felt something smooth. He reached further under and pulled out the burn phone. The battery had died, but why had it been left on? Had G used it, and if he had used it, why hadn't he called Sam or Hetty or ops? Sam knew he needed to get this back to Eric as soon as possible, but before he did that, he would swing by G's home and see if there was anything there that might explain what had happened. Before he left, Sam called Eric and told him to send someone out to drive the car back to ops.

"What should I tell Hetty?" Eric asked after Sam explained what he'd found and where he was going.

"If she asks, tell her I'm heading over to G's to see what I can find. If she doesn't ask, don't tell her anything. I'll be back in a few."

Eric was relieved that Sam had told him that he didn't have to relay this information to Hetty, and he made the call to have G's car brought back to ops.

When Sam pulled up in front of G's home, nothing seemed unusual. As he walked up to the front door, Sam's eyes surveyed the scene. No signs of a disturbance. No signs of forced entry. Sam reached down, took the extra key out of the flower pot, and opened the door. Sam stopped and looked around. Even after several years, he was still surprised by how sparsely furnished G's home was: a simple couch, an end table, a chair, a rug, and a floor lamp were the only furnishings in the living room. The only other items were his unopened gym bag, a chess board with an unfinished game in progress, his cell phone, and an unopened bottle of beer. Why would G leave his phone, and why would he leave it on and open? Sam picked it up. The battery was almost drained, but there was a little juice left. He tapped the screen; the screen lit up. He typed in G's code. Was Sam looking at a photo of himself? He was and the photo was taken last night because Sam was wearing his "souvenir" hospital war shirt at the beach. He swiped to the next photo: Kensi and Deeks sitting at an outdoor café. That one could have been taken last night, too. Whenever it was taken, Sam knew it was taken during their current assignment because of Kensi's extensions. The other photos were general miscellaneous subjects. Sam felt a knot form in his stomach. He knew that G's disappearance was somehow related to these two photos. He pulled out his phone. "Eric, Callen received two photos last night. I need you to trace the phone that sent them." He then gave Eric the number.

"Got it, Sam."

"Is his car back at ops yet?"

"Not yet."

"Okay. I'm on my way back with a burn phone I found in his car. It needs to be recharged."

"Not a problem."

Sam hung up, checked out the rest of G's home, and then locked the door behind him as he left. On the way back to ops, Sam thought about the photos. The scenario that made the most sense was that if whoever took the photos had, in some way, threatened the three of them. G would have taken any threat against them seriously, and he knew G would have done what needed to be done to save the team members even if it meant putting himself in danger.

The hum of the jet engines and the silence in the cabin was relaxing, and after more than five hours, G began to nod off, but he snapped awake when the plane began its descent. His stomach reminded him again how hungry he was. Sunlight streamed through the windows, but when he looked out, G didn't recognize any familiar landmarks. He was sure they were landing somewhere in Europe, and although he had no idea where they were exactly, he definitely knew where they weren't. G knew most of the major European cities and nothing looked familiar. Based on the landscape and the sparse industry activity, G thought they were either in the hinterlands of Russia or in one of its poorer Eastern European neighbors. Maybe even Uzbekistan. The plane's descent was rapid, so he'd find out soon enough. As soon as the plane came to a stop on the runway, one of the men yanked G out of his seat and cuffed his hands behind him while another dropped a black bag over his head. Then he heard the plane's door open and was pushed toward the exit. Stepping onto the metal steps, G stumbled slightly but hands held him upright as he negotiated the steep stairs. The sun warmed his face even through the bag over his head, and G was glad it wasn't raining. With everything else that had happened so far, he didn't need to be cold and wet in addition to being tired and hungry in an unknown country with unknown companions who had an unknown agenda.

The gravel beneath their feet crunched as they walked away from the plane. The man walking next to him gripped G vice-like and that kept him from stumbling. It was hard enough walking across familiar ground blindfolded; walking across ground you'd never been on before without the benefit of sight was doubly difficult. Throw in sleep deprivation and hunger and the task became even tougher. There were no sounds other than the sounds of the wind in nearby trees and their shoes on the gravel. Even the men had stopped talking. They stopped without warning and there was the sound, the creaking, of a door being opened. It sounded like a large metal door sliding or rolling, maybe of a warehouse or a hanger, and it sounded as if it hadn't been opened in years. When they entered the building, G immediately felt the cold air suck the warmth out of his body, and the echo of their shoes across the concrete floor told him that the room was probably very large and very empty. The man gripping G's arm stopped abruptly and released him. G started to duck his head so that the bag would drop off, but the man yanked his shoulders back upright.

The older man spoke slowly, "No, Agent Callen, we'd like you to keep your head covered for the moment."

"Any particular reason?"

"There's no need for you to see where you are even though you wouldn't recognize it. This location isn't well-known and we'd like to keep it that way."

"So, not Russia? Maybe Serbia? Uzbekistan?"

"None of those, Agent Callen, and that's all I'll say about where you are for the moment."

"Well, before we get started with whatever you have planned, nature calls."

The man behind him gripped his arm again and shoved G in a new direction. He could hear a second set of footsteps join them. The man stopped him and another door opened. While one man held G's arms, the second man unlocked the handcuffs and pulling G's hands in front of him, relocked the handcuffs. He then pulled the bag off G's head and pushed him inside a small, dark room closing the door behind him. G waited until his eyes became accustomed to the darkness before taking a step. The room was small, about five by eight, and the only thing in the room was a plastic 5 gallon bucket. It wasn't a bathroom, but it was basic, and compared to some of his experiences in foreign prisons, this, at least, seemed somewhat sanitary. When he was through, he tried to open the door. Locked. G stood and waited. No windows, no lights. He didn't want to stay in here. Even with a bag over his head, he preferred the big, empty room where he didn't feel confined—at least, not yet.

When the man opened the door, G only caught a glimpse of the larger room before they dropped the bag over his head again. He had been right; it looked like a hanger or warehouse. He saw almost no furniture of any kind: a few chairs, a table, a cabinet of some sort, and the front end of a black SUV outside. They didn't remove his handcuffs or re-cuff his hands behind his back this time. That could be a good thing. The men walked him back to the general center of the room. He'd been awake for more than 24 hours and hadn't eaten in almost as many. G was beginning to feel the effects.

One man stood behind him, and G waited. He heard the other men moving around in front of him, heard the sliding of chairs against the floor. Finally, the older man spoke. "Do you know why we invited you to come with us, Agent Callen?"

"Not exactly, but it was an invitation I couldn't refuse."


	3. Chapter 3

G stood waiting for the older man to explain exactly why they'd "invited" him to come, and he wasn't sure if he could stand much longer.

"Agent Callen, we invited you to come with us because we need you."

"It's hard to believe you couldn't find anyone else in all of Europe to do whatever it is you need me to do."

"It may be hard to believe, but it's true."

"I'm flattered," G said, "but, honestly, I'm not that special."

"But you are, Agent Callen. In fact, you're the only one for this particular job."

There was a pause as G waited for the man to continue. When he didn't, G picked up the conversation.

"So, what is it that you need me to do that only I can do?"

"We need you to be our bait, Agent Callen."

There was a considerable pause before G asked, "You're going fishing?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. We're fishing for a person. And that person, our target, is connected to you, has worked with you, and has known you for years."

G waited. He wasn't going to offer any names, but he began to feel slightly sick. His first thought was Sam. What danger was G leading his partner into now? Was this somehow connected to the rescue of Arkady and Sharov? That didn't make any sense. That was more than a year ago, and if they were after Sam, they would have just taken him off the street or "invited" him. If not Sam, then who? Someone from his operations when he worked for the Agency? Maybe, but those were years ago. Hetty. It had to be Hetty. The older man sensed G's growing anxiety.

"Yes, Agent Callen, you're the perfect bait, and now it's time to put you on the hook." As the older man finished speaking, he nodded slightly. One man grabbed G under his arms and held him upright. Still unable to see anything because of the hood, G couldn't prepare himself for the pummeling as four fists pounded his face and body. The barrage was relentless, and handcuffed and immobile, there was no way G could defend or protect himself. "You see," the older man explained, "we need to send a message that the target determines your fate, whether you live or die. So, unfortunately, Agent Callen, this is a necessity." These were the last words G heard before he blacked out.

Eric had traced the phone that sent the photos to Callen. "It was a burn phone, but it wasn't purchased in the US."

"Can you determine where it was purchased, Mr. Beale?" Hetty asked. She and Sam stood behind Eric while he worked. Both masked their anxiety well.

Eric returned to his keyboard. "Moscow."

"Russian," Hetty said and looked at Sam.

"That's never a good thing," Sam stated bluntly as he and Hetty exchanged looks.

"I agree, Mr. Hanna." She turned back to Eric. "And the burn phone that was found in Mr. Callen's car. Have you been able to pull anything from it?"

Eric turned and faced both of them. "The only thing I found on the burn phone was a voice recording. No calls or text messages in or out."

"A voice recording? Okay," Sam continued, "so G was trying to pass along some information or maybe get a recording of a voice for voice recognition."

"Mr. Beale, have you been able to retrieve the voice recording?" Hetty moved closer to him and stood just behind his shoulder.

Eric gave them a look that told them the news wasn't good. "Most burn phones aren't really designed to be used as recording devices, so the quality of the microphones in them isn't very good. In fact, it's junk."

"But you got something," Sam insisted.

Turning back to his keyboard, Eric smiled slightly. "I did manage to get a recording. I enhanced it, but I don't think the other man's voice can be identified using voice recognition software." With that, he pushed a key and Hetty and Sam listened to the conversation the previous evening between G and an unknown man.

Hetty spoke first when the recording was over. "Russian." She turned to Sam, "I don't like this, Mr. Hanna."

"Neither do I, Hetty. What did G say?" Sam had recognized his partner's voice easily even with the poor recording quality.

"He said they were in Burbank. He noted that it was too late for a studio tour, so he asked if they were going to the Burbank Airport."

Sam shook his head and smiled. Too late for a studio tour. "But the other man didn't offer any information."

"No, he didn't." She looked at Sam with steady eyes, "I believe Mr. Callen was quite possibly correct to think that he was going to be leaving our area by means of an airplane, commercial or charter. Find out when he left, how he left, and where he went, Mr. Hanna."

"I will, Hetty," Sam assured her. Hetty nodded; she knew if anyone could—would—find Callen, it would be Sam. She left ops and Sam turned back to Eric. "Eric, when was the recording made?"

Eric checked the monitor. "Recording started at 8:13 pm last night."

Sam continued, "I need a list of all flights that left area airports between 8:13 and 11:30 pm. Check all the airports, including municipal airports and private airstrips. Get the passenger manifests from commercial airlines and the passenger manifests and flight plans from private and charter flights. Check all airports, including municipal and private airstrips. Whoever they are, they'd be as likely to trade the lack of security coverage at a smaller private site for the convenience of a major commercial airport."

"Sam, what if they didn't leave from an airport?" Eric asked with trepidation.

"Let's start with airports first." Sam's voice sounded surer than he felt. "If they didn't leave from an airport, we'll check other options, but whoever they are, they seem to be on a timeline. Callen thought he was going to an airport, so that's what we'll check first. Get Nell to help you; this case takes priority."

Nell had silently slipped into the seat beside Eric and was already working on the task. "Right," Eric said before turning back to his keyboard and monitor. In a moment, both Eric and Nell were completely focused on the task at hand, and Sam knew that if Callen had left on a plane from any location in Southern California, these two would comb through every piece of data and every photo until they found the evidence. And if G hadn't left by plane, they would revise their search parameters and start again. But that would happen only after this search had been completed. However Callen had left, Eric and Nell would be leave nothing unchecked or to chance.

Sam went downstairs to talk with Hetty who was seated at her desk. "It doesn't make sense," he said as he across from her. "Why would the Russians take Callen now?"

"You don't think it has to do with your operation to free Arkady and Sharov?"

"No, I don't. I think," Sam continued, "if the Russians were really upset about that operation, they would have gone after Arkady before taking Callen. Even though he's former KGB, Arkady's been a pain in their side a lot longer than G."

"I have to agree, Mr. Hanna."

"Maybe it's something from his days at the Agency?"

Hetty let out a sigh of frustration. "I've contacted the Agency to find out what I can about his previous operations, but there are some things they simply won't tell me. From the information we do have about his work for them, there doesn't seem to be anything that would cause the Russians to take the drastic action of abducting him from American soil, and certainly not now."

"We must be missing something."

"Unfortunately, I believe you're correct, Mr. Hanna. We're missing something, something that could be of vital importance."

Hetty and Sam were silent, and at the moment, both of them were out of ideas.

Not long after the conversation between Hetty and Sam, Nell and Eric called them back to ops. They had scoured the photos and data from all the major area airports—LAX, Burbank, Ontario, Long Beach, Orange County, and San Diego—and had found no sign of Callen through photo recognition, security checks, or passenger manifests. But they had found something when they searched the smaller municipal airports and private airstrips.

When Hetty and Sam had entered ops, Eric began, "We searched all the major airports using security footage, photo recognition, and passenger manifests and found no indication that Callen had passed through any of them between the hours of 8:15 and 12:00 midnight last night."

Sam cocked his head when he heard 12:00 midnight, and Nell spoke up, "We thought we should check flights until midnight just in case." Of course they did, Sam smiled. He and Hetty appreciated their thoroughness.

Nell continued, "We then checked with all the municipal airports, but there were fewer than fifty flights scheduled to leave between those hours. Only fifteen were traveling further east than Denver; those flights were either business or family flights. And the passenger manifests of all the scheduled flights checked out."

"Most of the flights at the municipals were actually designated hours of flight instruction courses," Eric offered as further explanation.

"We did, however," continued Nell, "find a flight out of a private airstrip that filed a flight plan from Palmdale to Capital City Airport in New Cumberland, Pennsylvania. It left at 10:13 pm. There were five passengers, all male, in addition to the pilot and co-pilot, and there was no security footage."

"At the request of the man who chartered the flight," Eric interjected. "It was a charter flight booked under the name Alexei Glazkov."

"Did you run his name?" Sam asked.

"We did," Nell said as information appeared on the screen. "According to his passport, Alexei Glazkov is a Russian businessman who entered the United States three days ago to finalize a business deal."

Sam wondered if that "business deal" was Callen. "And _is_ Glazkov a businessman?"

"Still checking," Eric said.

"Good work," Sam said to both of them. "Send Alexei's photo to my phone. Look for associates. If you find any, send their photos to me, as well," Sam continued as he turned to leave.

"Mr. Hanna, please wait for me downstairs," Hetty said as he left the room. Then she turned to the elite support personnel who made all of the work conducted by NCIS agents easier and more effective, "Excellent work, as usual, Ms. Jones, Mr. Beale." As Hetty walked out, Nell and Eric shared a quick thumbs up and then turned back to their work. They were as determined as Hetty and Sam to find Callen.

Sam was at his desk, anxious to leave, when Hetty approached. "What we have is a start, Mr. Hanna, and hopefully a good one." She paused and Sam waited. "You know that Assistant Director Granger is back in Washington and Agent Blye and Mr. Deeks are on assignment."

"I do."

"Well, you need backup, a partner, and preferably someone who speaks Russian."

"I'd get G to go with me, but he's not available," Sam replied with a hint of anger.

"I know. But there is someone available who has agreed to go with you." With those words, Anna stepped into view. Sam looked at Anna and then back at Hetty in disbelief.

"Hetty, I get why you want Anna to come with me, but I don't think that it's a good idea."

"Mr. Hanna, you need someone to be your partner, someone who speaks Russian, and someone who can take care of herself. Anna is an experienced operative, speaks Russian, is more than capable of taking care of herself, and has previous experience working with NCIS. For this assignment, at least for now, she is your partner."

Sam was obviously uncomfortable with this arrangement, but Anna spoke up. "I know things haven't always gone smoothly when we've worked together, Agent Hanna, but I hope you will give me the chance to help you now."

Sam turned to Hetty again, silently pleading his case, but she wasn't changing her mind. It was a few moments before she spoke to Sam with finality, "Anna has been brought up to speed."

Sam realized he had lost the argument. He turned to Anna, "You ready to go?"

"Yes."

"Okay then," he said and headed to the car. Anna glanced back at Hetty and then followed Sam out the door as he called back to her over his shoulder, "Don't call me Agent Hanna. Call me Sam."

G woke up on the concrete floor. His whole body ached and he felt the bruises from his beating beginning to form. His head was still covered although one eye was almost swollen shut, so he wasn't sure how well he'd be able to see even if he didn't have a hood over his head. He lay on his side, wondering how long ago the beating had stopped, but grateful that it had—and that he was still alive. He may be bait, he thought, but, at least for the moment, they needed live bait. Two pairs of hands jerked him out of his thoughts and into a standing position. Unsteady on his feet because of his beating, his exhaustion, and his hunger, G was held by the two men as they removed the hood. He squinted and dropped his head as the bright lights blinded him. As his eyes adjusted to the lights, he saw that outside of the light's glow, dusky shadows filled the rest of the room. He must have been unconscious for hours. G tried to twist his head around to check his watch. His hands were cuffed behind him again, and he wanted to get an idea of how much time had passed since he'd left L.A., but he winced at the pain that shot through his shoulders and neck and stopped. His eyes focused next on the blood on his shirt and the bruises beginning to appear on his arms. There were a lot of both, but G couldn't think about that. He had bigger problems.

The older man approached. When he was within an arm's length, G looked up. "I guess I slept through lunch and dinner?" he asked with mock surprise.

"Lunch, yes, but we do have something for you," the man said as he held out a cup with more of the brownish liquid he'd been offered on the plane.

"I'll pass," G said.

"I suggest you drink it after your ordeal. It's all we'll offer you today."

"Guess it's a good thing I had a big meal before I left then."

The older man struck G across the face with the back of his hand. He then studied G carefully, poking and prodding and looking closely at his bruise—satisfied that G seemed to be in considerable pain. He turned to the man behind him, "Get the camera."

"I don't think I'm ready for my portrait just yet."

"On the contrary, Agent Callen, your appearance is ideal. Once our target sees evidence of your condition and understands that we are quite serious about killing you, I'm sure we'll be able to complete our business in a timely manner." As the man brought the camera and began setting it up for the video transmission, G's mind raced. He had to tell the target—whoever it was—to not come, to not save him. In five minutes the camera was on a tripod and they were ready to begin filming. The older man spoke to the men holding G, "Take off his shirt." One of the men removed G's handcuffs while the other man held him. Both were bigger and fresher than G; there was no way he could overpower them in his condition. Any such effort would be pointless. After removing G's shirt, one of the men tossed it on the floor.

"That's a favorite shirt. I hope you plan on getting that cleaned for me before I leave." G's voice was perfectly calm and clear, if not very strong, but he was glad that he could still find a way to needle his captors. With his shirt removed, he saw that the bruising extended well past his arms. He knew there would be evidence of his beating over his entire body, but he was still surprised by what he saw. The beating must have continued for quite a while after he'd blacked out. His chest and torso looked as if someone had shot him with fifty purple and blue paint balls at close range. G guessed that his legs would look pretty much the same. Still, it didn't feel as if anything had been broken—yet. Looking at his bruised body, G could hear Sam telling him _again_ that G had to take better care of himself. He made a mental note to tell Sam, once he saw him again, that he was actually considering following his advice. Sam would be pleased that his patience had paid off, and a slight smile crossed his lips briefly and then disappeared. Right now, G thought, seeing Sam again didn't seem very likely.

One man cuffed G's hands behind him again and then both men stepped to the side. G made a mental note that the three younger men seldom spoke, and when they did, they only spoke in Russian. Maybe they didn't understand or speak English, and then G thought that whether or not his captors spoke English was an odd—and not very useful—observation at the moment. But, like Arkady once told him years ago, every bit of information is useful sooner or later. Maybe this would be, too. Standing shirtless and beaten in the bright lights that illuminated every bruise and bloody cut, G realized just how tired he was of this whole game. He sat down abruptly on the concrete and dropped his head to his chest. He refused to make it easy for them to make their video.

The older man's voice was strident as he spoke rapidly in Russian to the others. Two of them again yanked G up to a standing position while the other went to the cabinet and retrieved a long length of chain. He threw the chain up and over the roof's rafters above G. Then he undid G's handcuffs and pulled his hands to the front. Using the chain, he wrapped it around and through the handcuffs, and with his hands now in front of his body, the chain held G's arms above his head in a painfully awkward position. "We want you to be standing for our video, Agent Callen."

"You could have just said so," G replied wearily. He was spent. More instructions in Russian and then G saw the red light on the video camera flicker on. His body slumped, but as soon as the recording began and the older man started to speak, G began shouting over him, first in English and then in Russian, "Don't come!"and "You can't save me!" The older man yelled at them to stop the recording and gave more instructions as he crossed to G and struck him across the face again. A thin trickle of blood started at the corner of G's mouth. His blue eyes regarded the older man with anger and defiance, "I must have missed it when you said, 'Quiet on the set.'" Before he struck G again, one of the men handed him a roll of duct tape. "Duct tape has a thousand uses," G managed to say before a large piece was slapped across his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

Anna and Sam rode to Palmdale in awkward silence. Neither spoke for almost an hour although Anna glanced in Sam's direction several times, gauging whether or not to begin a conversation. Sam didn't even turn on the radio. When they were about twenty minutes from the private airstrip, Sam finally broke the silence. "Why are you really doing this, Anna?"

"Because Hetty asked me to," Anna answered immediately.

"That's the only reason, because Hetty asked you to?"

Anna waited several minutes before answering. "What do you want me to tell you?"

"I want you to tell me the truth, Anna. Why are you doing this? Are you only doing it because of Hetty?"

"Why is my reason for helping so important to you?"

Sam pulled onto the shoulder of the road and stopped. There was no mistaking the seriousness of his expression or the tone of his voice "Because G's my friend. I've seen how he acts around you, heard how he talks about you." Anna listened as Sam continued. "G hates to have people get involved in his personal life, but he's my partner and my friend, and he's getting involved with you even if he doesn't think he is, and even if he doesn't want to admit it. I need to know that he's not the only one getting involved. I need to know that _he's_ one of the reasons, the real reason, the reason that means more to you than doing Hetty a favor, and that _he's_ why you're doing this."

Anna looked out the window at the highway plants wilting under the afternoon sun. After a moment, she turned and looked straight at Sam without flinching. "He's not the only one getting involved, Sam, and yes, he _is_ the real reason I'm doing this."

"Okay then," Sam nodded as he pulled back onto the road and continued to the private airstrip. He paused briefly and then shot Anna a glance, "We won't tell G about this conversation."

"You're not kidding," Anna agreed, as she rolled her eyes.

After they had filmed the video, the men put the camera away. G watched as they downloaded the video onto a laptop and from the laptop onto a flash drive. Their target would be getting this within the next few days, but G had no idea what would happen after she, or he, received it. He'd heard the demand and the threats, but what the response would be was impossible to know without knowing the who. The older man had stated in the video that if, after four days from today, there had been no communication with him, G would be killed. This could be a false deadline designed to get a quick response, or it could be a non-negotiable one. Getting the flash drive to the right individual shouldn't be much of a problem. G didn't know who—or where—the target was, but his captors obviously knew who they were trying to reach, and if it was someone in the intelligence community—which seemed the most likely—very few people were actually unknown or unreachable. And if the older man was contacted, who knew? Maybe there would be a few days of negotiations, and G would be alive another week. But, based on G's limited but very personal experience, this older man didn't strike him as much of a negotiator. This man knew what he wanted and knew how to get it, and G knew that they had nothing to lose by killing him—once they got who they wanted—and that they had nothing to gain by keeping him alive. G would have asked the men if his speculations were correct, but they had left hours ago.

The daylight had faded, and G looked into the blackness around him. He appreciated that the hood had not been put back on, and that the duct tape had been removed; it made his lips itch. Evidently, he could make as much noise as he wanted or was able because nobody would hear him. The thought kept coming that his captors might not come back tomorrow. Or the next day. After all, they had their video. They might not need to use their "bait" again until the four days had passed, and maybe not even then. G hadn't had anything to eat or drink since he left L.A.—and he wasn't going to get anything tonight and probably not tomorrow, so no matter what happened with the target, it seemed more and more likely that these men had no intention of keeping G alive or of sending him home. After all, even G and his team had dressed up a corpse to look alive. Maybe this time G would be the dressed up corpse.

It wasn't that G minded the thought of dying. He'd prepared himself for it many times. He'd often joked with Sam that he'd probably be killed on the job before his body gave out from the wear and tear, and he was only half-kidding. What G minded, now that he was again thinking about the possibility of dying, was the thought of no one knowing that he was dead. Not because he wanted anyone mourning him. No, G knew that if Hetty, Sam, and the rest of the team didn't know that he was dead, they would continue to search for him—a pointless and possibly dangerous task. He didn't want to be responsible for anyone's death, especially a friend's death. If he died now, though, at least he wouldn't leave behind a son or daughter who would grow up in the pain and confusion of not knowing who his father was or what had happened to him. Ironic, G thought, that he might die so soon after finally meeting his own father. He had been alone most of his life and now he was, very likely, going to die alone. Suddenly, G shook his head violently. He didn't think there was enough water in his body for a tear. "Get a grip, Grisha," he told himself angrily. Thoughts about death weren't very helpful given his present situation, and he wasn't dead, yet. Too bad, he thought, that he wasn't musical. Singing always seemed to lift the spirits, but if G even _thought_ about singing, Sam threatened to throw him out—while the car was moving. After a few more hours spent with more pleasant thoughts of his friends and a few ineffective, exhausting efforts to free himself, G fell into a fitful sleep, wrapped in darkness with his arms still shackled to the rafters above him.

When Sam and Anna returned to ops later that day, they had confirmed that G had been a passenger on the plane that left the private airstrip in Palmdale, and Nell and Eric had been able to gather more information about Alexei Glazkov and some of his known associates.

"According to the data we gathered, Alexei Glazkov is an alias for Sergey Polzin, a former KGB operative. Although not an active operative today, the government will call him in to tie-up loose ends from previous covert operations, recent ones and ones that occurred years ago," Nell explained. "We haven't found any evidence that he currently acts as the initial or primary agent for any covert action, and he appears to work primarily for the Russian government although he has been known to work for private contractors on occasion."

"So, he's a clean-up guy," Sam said, and looked at Hetty who was standing next to him. "Then why take G? It just doesn't make sense that the Russians would come after him now because of Arkady and Sharov when so much time has passed. And I still think they would go after Arkady before anyone else."

"I agree, Mr. Hanna," Hetty said thoughtfully, "unless they have just discovered Mr. Callen's involvement in that operation and are feeling the need to lessen their embarrassment that it succeeded."

Sam wasn't convinced. "If they had discovered G's involvement, they would have discovered my involvement, so why not come after both of us?"

"You're right again, Mr. Hanna. It doesn't make sense."

Everyone was quiet for a moment as they considered the information Nell had provided. Suddenly, Hetty spoke very quietly, "Perhaps the Russians plan to bring criminal charges against Mr. Callen."

Sam looked at her questioningly, "Criminal charges?"

Hetty said, "Yes, Mr. Hanna, criminal charges. To be more specific, a charge of treason."

"Treason?" Sam asked incredulously. "You can't commit treason against a country unless you're a citizen of that country."

"Exactly," Hetty said and looked at Sam without flinching.

For a moment, Sam—everyone else in ops—was speechless. "You're not serious, Hetty. G's not a Russian citizen."

"His father's Russian. In fact, at the time of Mr. Callen's birth, his father was a major in the Soviet army."

"I thought G's birth certificate lists his birthplace as Romania."

"It does," Hetty conceded, "but what if it's a forgery?"

"A forgery?" Nell interjected and then immediately pursed her lips as both Hetty and Sam looked at her.

"Yes," Hetty said to Nell and then turned back to Sam. "There are many unanswered questions about Mr. Callen's childhood and early years, Mr. Hanna. His mother was working in Romania, that's true, but before Mr. Callen's birth, she disappeared. No one, including myself, had any idea where she was during the six years we lost contact with her. We do know that during these years, she met Callen's father and that Callen was born. Is it so farfetched to believe that Callen's mother, alone in Romania and in love with a Soviet Army major, would live with him in the Soviet Union and gave birth to Mr. Callen while living with him?"

Ops was eerily quiet and Sam realized how little G actually knew about his own past, even today. "Hetty, do you really think it's possible that G was born in Russia?"

"Sam, it was so long ago and so much information has been lost, that it is often impossible to verify facts, but the Russian government has access to information that we do not. Do I really think it's possible that Mr. Callen is a Russian citizen by birth? I do think it's possible, yes."

"And if he is, the government could charge him with treason."

"And one of the penalties for treason is death."

"Well, we know he's an American citizen, so what are we going to do?" Anna's question was simple and direct. She didn't care if G was a Russian citizen or not. She only cared about getting him home.

Hetty looked at Anna and said firmly, "What are we going to do? We are going to find Mr. Callen and bring him home."

"Exactly," Sam said without a hint of sarcasm. He continued, "It's what we do."

"That it is, Mr. Hanna," said Hetty and then turned to Eric and Nell. "Ms. Jones, Mr. Beale, we need to find out where Mr. Polzin and his party went after their charter arrived in New Cumberland."

"On it," said Eric as he and Nell turned back to their screens.

"Let me know as soon as you find something," Sam told them as he, Hetty, and Anna left ops .

Once downstairs, Hetty went with Anna to her office and Sam went to the weapons room. He needed to get ready to leave at any moment, and choosing the right gear made the difference in any operation. Anna stood while Hetty took her seat behind her desk.

"You know, Anna, I can't authorize you to go with Mr. Hanna, especially if the operation is outside of the U.S., and it appears as if this is most likely going to be the case.

"And you know I'm going, Hetty, whether you 'authorize' me to go or not."

"Thank you, Anna. Mr. Hanna will find it helpful to have someone with him who speaks Russian since Mr. Callen isn't available."

"You're worried, aren't you, Hetty?"

Hetty choose her words carefully before she answered, "I am worried because nothing about this makes sense, and I don't like it when things don't make sense."

"I'm worried, too."

"We will find him, Anna."

Anna smiled, "I know." She laughed a little before continuing, "You know, you're amazing, Hetty."

"I am? How so?"

"You suggested I leave a go bag here after Pena. I don't even have to go home and pack."

"So I did," Hetty smiled back. "But that doesn't make me amazing, my dear, that makes me old. When you've been in this business as long as I have . . . . Now, I suggest you join Mr. Hanna and choose whatever you think you'll need."

Less than an hour later, Nell called Hetty to let her know what they'd found. Sam and Anna joined Hetty back in ops.

"A plane was chartered from New Cumberland that morning by a Boris Yeltzen, another alias used by Sergey Polzin," Nell began.

Eric continued, "The flight plan had the charter arriving at National Airport in Minsk, Belarus, that afternoon, but there's no record of it ever arriving. I tapped into the air traffic system. The jet's transponder indicates it passing National, and then the transponder goes silent and the jet disappears from the air traffic system approximately 100 miles east of Minsk."

Nell picked up the story, "Radar briefly picks up an unidentified plane about that same time. The plane does not cross into Russian airspace, but disappears from radar as if it landed somewhere east of Minsk but west of the Russian border."

"Okay," Hetty thought. "Sergey is on a mission for the Russian government, but doesn't want to complete it on Russian soil in order to avoid any possible international complications. There must be no connection between Russia and Sergey, especially as his mission involves the kidnapping of an American agent. Belarus is an ideal location: it neighbors Russia, its government is pro-Putin, and it is sparsely populated without much sophisticated surveillance." She spoke directly to Eric, "Mr. Beale, we need to access satellite imagery of eastern Belarus. Look for inactive military bases, factories, or airports east of Minsk and near the Russian border. Using the satellite imagery, see if there has been any activity at these locations within the past 48 hours."

Hetty then turned to Sam, "Mr. Hanna, it might be useful to contact Mr. Callen's father."


	5. Chapter 5

"He'll want to help," Sam told Hetty.

"Of course, he will, Mr. Hanna, and you may very well need his help. Mr. Reznikov has years of valuable experience—and he has a considerable personal stake in this entire operation."

Sam was deep in thought as Hetty finished. "Maybe that's it, Hetty."

"That's what, Mr. Hanna?"

"Callen's personal connection."

Hetty waited patiently for Sam to continue.

"Callen's half-Russian—whether he's a Russian citizen or not—because his father's Russian. Vasile used Hans Schreiber to draw Callen out. Maybe Sergey is using Callen to draw Garrison out."

Hetty sighed, "Oh, bugger."

"Not likely?"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Hanna, your scenario makes more sense than others. Mr. Reznikov is someone the Russian government could easily put on trial for treason and quite easily convict."

"Even though his actions occurred more than forty years ago during the Cold War."

"There's no statute of limitations on treason, Mr. Hanna. Remember Branston Cole? Besides, Mr. Reznikov assisted you and Mr. Callen in extracting Arkady and Sharov after you helped them escape Russian custody."

"True." Sam thought for a moment, "Garrison had been under the radar for years. Everyone thought he was dead; even you told G his father was dead."

"And I believed he was. I would never have lied to Mr. Callen about that," Hetty said with absolute sincerity.

"Somehow after we left with Arkady and Sharov, someone must have discovered that Garrison was alive—and that he was Callen's father."

Hetty sighed, "We may have been partly responsible. There have been far too many leaks on our side, and that may have been one. It's also possible that simply by updating Mr. Callen's ID and personnel records with his full legal name we may have alerted others to the fact that his father was still living. After all," she looked at Sam, "who else but his father would have know Mr. Callen's name?"

"Callen looks for his father his entire life, finally finds him, and then because his father helps us, his father's—and Callen's—life may be in danger." Sam shook his head in disbelief, "G can't catch a break, can he, Hetty?"

"Not in all the years I've known him, Mr. Hanna."

While Hetty and Sam had been talking, Nell and Eric had continued working. Eric had been searching countless satellite images, and now he thought he'd found something. He threw the image onto the big screen. "I think I've found something."

Hetty, Sam, and Anna turned their attention to him and the image on the screen. "What are we looking at, Eric?" Sam asked.

"This is a satellite photo of Vitebsk Air Base in Belarus. Notice the hangers, out buildings, and runways. This photo was taken one week ago." Eric then threw another image onto the same screen so that the images were side-by-side. The image looked almost identical except that in the second image there were two vehicles parked outside one of the hangers. "This second image was taken one day ago."

"Someone's there," Anna said quietly. "Is that unusual?"

"Well," Eric said, "I'd say it's unusual since Vitebsk has been officially closed since the 90s."

"So," Sam continued, "it looks as if it's been 'unofficially' opened. Where is Vitebsk located?"

Eric smiled broadly, "It's approximately 140 miles east of Minsk and less than 60 miles from the Russian border."

"Excellent work, Mr. Beal," Hetty said with obvious sincerity.

"We aim to please."

"Now, Mr. Hanna, due to the fact that the reason for Mr. Callen's abduction still remains unknown, but that it could possibly involve his father, it is imperative that you contact Mr. Reznikov as soon as possible. I'll make the travel arrangements for you and Anna to leave immediately."

Hetty left Ops followed by Anna, and Sam turned immediately to Nell. "Nell, I need to speak with Commander Burke now."

Nell looked up the needed information and in less than two minutes, Sam was speaking with the commander who had provided their "Uber" service when they left Russia with Arkady and Sharov.

G gasped out loud when the bucket of ice cold water drenched his head. He realized he was still alive and still had feeling in parts of his body. That was good. He was also still shackled to the rafters and his arms were numb and yet burned like fire. That was not good. They felt as if they were being pulled out of their sockets. With effort, G pulled his feet under him to relieve the pain of his arms and shoulders. The two men standing in front of him smiled while they ate their fruit-filled breakfast pastries and drank their hot, aromatic coffee. G started to salivate, but he swallowed hard. "The rest of the gang isn't joining us today?" he asked in Russian.

"They're sleeping late," came the reply as the men pulled up chairs and took a seat a comfortable distance from him.

"Must be nice." G paused and then asked, "Bring me anything?"

Both men seemed confused by the question for a moment and then laughed loudly. When they stopped, they continued eating and talking and completely ignored the man who shared the hanger with them. G hadn't expected anything else. Now that he was awake and it was light, G took a closer look at his surroundings. The main door of the hanger was open and sunlight flooded in. Although he was too far inside for any of its rays or warmth to reach him, just the sight of so much light gave G a strange sense of calm. The hanger was too large for a municipal airport and the runway was in a state of disrepair, so his best guess was that he was being held in an abandoned military or air base. If it wasn't actually in Russia, it was probably somewhere nearby. It was some place people who spoke Russian all the time wouldn't stand out or be considered unusual. He ruled out the Balkan states—too far. He wouldn't be in any of the Baltic states—they were members of NATO and he doubted that even Putin would risk an international incident with NATO over one American agent. Kazakhstan was too far from Moscow, and Georgia and Ukraine weren't interested in doing Russia any favors. That left Belarus. If he was right, G could cross Belarus off his "to visit" list. There was only one way to find out if his guess was on target.

"Does the Belarus government know you're holding an American government agent captive in their country?" Their reaction told G that he'd nailed it. One man choked on his pastry and the other spit out his coffee. Then their conversation got louder and more animated. G simply watched and waited as they looked in his direction with increasing consternation. Their conversation became more anxious until it was interrupted by the arrival of the older man and his subordinate, and then their conversation abruptly stopped and they stood up. The older man spoke to them briefly and then instructed one of the men to release G. Finally unshackled, G staggered and then collapsed onto the cement floor. Damn, he thought, another bruise.

"Did either of you give Agent Callen anything to eat?" the older man asked the two early arrivals. Both men nodded in the negative. "Good," he said in approval and sat down on one of the chairs the men had moved closer to G. G remained on the floor. Hard and cold as it was, it was more comfortable than hanging for hours. He desperately wanted to sleep, but he also wanted to keep an eye on these men. The older man watched him struggling to stay awake for a few moments before speaking, "Agent Callen, I had you released so you'd be more comfortable. Wouldn't you like to rest?"

"I'd actually like to go home, but I'm guessing that's not an option," Callen said without a smile.

"You're correct, Agent Callen, that's not an option—at least, not yet. I must say, I'm impressed that you've maintained a sense of humor."

"That wasn't humor; that was honesty," G said truthfully. "I guess it just sounds humorous to some people."

The older man's expression tightened and he spoke through taut lips, "You really should get some rest, Agent Callen. You're going to be our guest for several more days at least."

So, they were planning to keep him alive, at least for now. That meant G didn't have anything to lose—other than some additional bruises or other physical punishment—by pushing. It was worth it if he could get more information. "Your two early birds," G said, indicating the two men who'd arrived first, "couldn't answer my question, but I'm sure you can. Does the Belarus government know you're holding an American agent captive on their soil?"

The older man's face remained emotionless, but when he looked at the two men, his anger was evident. He turned back to Callen, "Our location is unimportant, Agent Callen."

He didn't deny it immediately—which probably meant he was unprepared for the question, so it was a good bet that they were in Belarus. The simple fact that he was still able to think this through gave G some confidence and some comfort. He might be tired, hungry, and a little worse for wear, but he still had the ability to think and reason. That would be helpful when Sam and the others found him. Now that he'd gotten some information, he thought he'd see how much more he could get. "You know, I feel as though I'm at a disadvantage. You know a lot about me, including my name, and you've told me that you're using me for bait, but I'd feel more a part of this whole operation if I knew more about all of you. You know, simple things like your names, who you're working for, the name of your target."

The older man spoke with a decided coldness in his voice, "While I appreciate your interest in being 'more a part of this whole operation,' Agent Callen, our names and the name of our target are better kept secret at this particular stage. You will eventually know who are target is and perhaps even our names, but these details will become known only when certain steps have been completed or if there is an error on our part. As of yet, steps are still uncompleted and no such errors have been made." He then turned to the three younger men with an expression designed to ensure that they clearly understood that they were not to reveal any other details to G.

Well, G thought, he'd tried. When this man wasn't present, he'd try again to prod additional information from his subordinates; they obviously feared and respected him, but they were inexperienced in methods of subtle interrogation. As the four men turned to other business, G stretched out on the concrete and closed his eyes. What he wouldn't give for his bedroll even if Hetty thought it was a disgusting, dirty, old thing. In a few moments, he was sound asleep for the first time in two days. G felt the soft breath of Anna as her lips reached his. He felt her hair fall tenderly across his face and chest. He felt the coolness of her skin against him, saw her smile when he kissed her eyelids, and heard her sigh when his fingers gently caressed her shoulders and his lips moved delicately across her body. G smiled because in his dream, at least, she wasn't angry at him.


	6. Chapter 6

Kensi and Deeks returned to OSP late that afternoon after a lively discussion about whether or not Kensi should keep her blond extensions one more day. She hadn't. They had contacted Hetty earlier and informed her that the members of the arms-drug smuggling operation had been identified and arrested, and the federal authorities would be filing charges. Hetty had not shared any information about the current crisis involving Callen in order to ensure that they focused their full attention on their assignment, but now that it was completed, she brought them up to speed. Kensi was obviously angry when she learned Callen was missing. She and Callen were especially close as she, Sam, and Callen had all joined the team within a few months of one another, and Callen's support had been especially appreciated since Kensi was coming out of a particularly rough spot in her personal life. It was surprising to Kensi even now that as quiet and private as Callen was, he was able to recognize the emotional state of his fellow team members and provide support, without any fanfare, when they needed it. Deeks understood the reason Hetty had kept them out of the information loop, but he, too, was angry. After all, Callen had been the first member of the team to welcome him when Deeks stepped in after Dom's disappearance, and although Deeks wouldn't consider Callen and him to be best buds or even beer buddies, Deeks appreciated Callen's efforts to make him feel part of the team.

"Mr. Hanna and Ms. Kolcheck will be arriving in Russia shortly," Hetty said to them as they made their way from the bullpen to Hetty's desk.

"We should be there, Hetty," Kensi said with a slight tinge of irritation in her voice.

"Ms. Blye, it wasn't practical to have them wait until your assignment had been completed. It was essential that they depart as soon as possible, and it was also essential that your assignment be concluded satisfactorily. Time can be an enemy or an ally, but it can seldom, if ever, be controlled. While it's true that you and Mr. Deeks could join Mr. Hanna and Ms. Kolcheck in Russia, I have an important task for you here." Hetty motioned for them to sit which they did. She continued, "We need to distract our Russian counterparts with subterfuge. We need their focus to be in another direction entirely. We do not want the Russian government aware that we have discovered Mr. Polzin's involvement, and we want to avoid alerting them to the presence of Mr. Hanna and Ms. Kolcheck in Russia and Belarus. Stealth and secrecy are essential to the success of this mission. Our intelligence indicates that Mr. Polzin operates with a very small team, and we want to do everything possible to keep his team very small. That being the case, we do not want the Russian government sending him reinforcements; your mission is to make certain that they don't."

"I understand, Hetty, but I just wish we could do more than distract the Russians."

"Ms. Blye, your effort may not require a great deal of action, but it will require confidence and professional cunning, and it will be an enormous help in ensuring the success of our rescue operation."

"Hetty," Deeks interjected, "if anyone can deliver professional cunning with complete confidence, it's Kensi and me. Diversion is our name, and subterfuge is our game. We are distracters extraordinaire."

"I appreciate your confidence, Mr. Deeks, but I don't expect you to create a compelling story on your own. Nell will help you develop detailed background information to make the theories you share with your Russian counterparts convincing. I will leave the precise details to you, but bear in mind that your purpose is to direct their attention away from their eastern border with Europe, particularly Belarus. I suggest proposing two possible scenarios; it suggests that we have some facts, but that we're still searching for confirmation before taking action. However, we don't want them to think we're simply flailing in the dark. We need them to believe that we have developed two probable explanations for Mr. Callen's disappearance and may be preparing to act." As she rose from behind her desk, Hetty offered a few additional observations, "Ask them for their assistance. Their response may help us gauge their involvement."

"What if they offer their assistance?" Deeks asked.

"Accept it, of course," Hetty replied. "But I am much more inclined to believe that the Russians will offer no assistance; in fact, I believe they will be most uncooperative." She paused briefly before continuing, "If you do not convince the Russians that we are prepared to act on one of the scenarios you present, the Russians may see through your subterfuge. That could prove disastrous for all of us. Remember, you will be dealing with intelligence professionals as adept at deception as you are yourselves." After making clear the gravity of the task that Kensi and Deeks faced, Hetty walked out of OSP to visit an old friend and close acquaintance of Mr. Callen. Kensi, undeterred by the task and anxious to do her part to bring Callen and the others safely home, went to find Nell. Deeks, somewhat subdued by Hetty's final comment, sat deep in thought for a moment before he rose to join his partner.

Anna and Sam arrived in Moscow without incident but with slightly different appearances. Anna's blond hair was now a mousey brown, courtesy of a temporary rinse, and it was tied back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes were heavily outlined in black behind wire-rimmed glasses, and a dark plum color tinted her lips. Her loose top, pencil-slim pants, and long, cream-colored vest were comfortable but not particularly memorable. Sam also displayed a different look. He wore a gray racing cap, a short-sleeved polo shirt that showed his tattoos to advantage, reflective aviator sunglasses, and black jeans. They were traveling on tourist visas, members of The Companion City Club, a club whose members traveled the world visiting cities that had names in common with cities in the U.S. According to club records, Cheryl Johansen, Anna's alias, and Derrick Wyatt, Sam's alias, had recently visited Paris, France, and Manchester, England. They had traveled to Russia for the express purpose of visiting Moscow and St. Petersburg. Eric had devised this backstop, and Sam had to hand it to him—it was definitely original and in a strange way, totally believable. Once they landed in Moscow, Sam and Anna went dark—no further communication with OPS until they had rendezvoused with Garrison and decided on a plan of action.

Hetty parked her Jaguar in the driveway and walked up to the imposing entrance. She rang the doorbell and waited. In a moment, Arkady opened the door. Polite concern marked his demeanor. "Henrietta, how nice to see you. Have you come to tell me where my Anna is?"

"Yes, Arkady, I have. And I have come to ask for your help."

Arkady ushered her into the enormous entry, and then they both continued to his kitchen. Hetty took a seat at the kitchen table while Arkady got two glasses, put a few cubes of ice in each, and poured them both some scotch. He then brought both glasses to the table, handed her one, and took a sip from his before joining her at the table.

"So, where is my Anna?"

"She's in Russia by now," Hetty stated matter-of-factly.

Arkady was clearly displeased. "Why did you send her to Russia?"

"I didn't send her, Arkady. She went because she wanted to go."

"Why would she want to go to Russia? She didn't like it the last time she visited. What is she doing there?"

"She's helping Mr. Hanna."

"So," he sounded triumphant, "you did send her."

"No, Arkady," Hetty restated, "I did not send her. It was entirely her choice."

There was a pause as Arkady looked at her quizzically and took another sip of scotch.

"Why isn't she helping Callen?" he asked.

"Mr. Callen is the reason she went to Russia, Arkady."

Arkady finished his scotch and got up to get himself another shot. "For someone who's part Russian, I've never met anyone who has a worse relationship with the Mother country than Callen."

"I agree with you, but I don't think that's entirely his fault. Do you?"

"No, I don't." He joined her back at the table and sat. "So, Callen needs help?"

"Yes. He's been abducted, and we believe that whoever has taken him has done so as part of an operation conducted for the Russian government, and that he is either in Russia or one of its neighbors."

"So, you don't know where he is?"

"Not precisely, but we have a good idea."

"And you don't know who has taken him?"

"Not exactly, but our evidence is very convincing if circumstantial."

Arkady looked at Hetty with some skepticism. "You mentioned that you want to ask for my help."

Hetty took a sip and then spoke, "I did and I do. Although we can't say with absolute certainty yet who has taken Mr. Callen or why, we believe his abduction may be related to his father."

"You think the Russian government might be after Callen's father?"

"We believe it's a strong possibility." Hetty continued, "If you still have connections inside Russia after your most recent visit, I'm asking you to make inquiries, in a prudent manner, and ascertain if there has been any communication indicating that the Russian government is aware that Nikita Reznikov—by whatever name he's now identified—is alive. And, if the Russian government knows he's alive, are they actively pursuing his capture or his death?"

"If the government knows Reznikov's alive, there is a very good possibility that they are pursuing him. The Russian government has a very long memory, Henrietta, and it hates those it believes have acted against its interests."

"We understand that. Will you help us, Arkady?"

"It will help Anna and Callen?"

"It may save both of their lives, as well as Mr. Hanna's life and the life of Callen's father."

He took a long sip before answering. "Of course I will help you, Henrietta. I will do my best to find out if the government has any information or interest in Nikita Reznikov—by any name."

"Thank you, Arkady," she said as she finished her scotch and stood to leave. "Please let me know as soon as you learn anything."

Arkady stood and escorted her to her car. "I will do what I can and contact you as soon as I hear anything." He took her hand and bowed slightly before she entered her car. "You know, Henrietta, with my Anna and your Callen seeing so much of each other these days, I almost feel as though you and I are related."

Although Hetty found this comment somewhat alarming, she managed to smile. "Indeed," was all she said before accelerating out of the driveway. Arkady watched her drive away with a look of kindred affection and then strode back purposefully into his house to gather whatever useful information he could as quickly as he could.

Nell worked with Kensi and Deeks for several hours to develop two plausible scenarios they would use to distract the Russian government from NCIS' actual game plan taking shape in eastern Russia and Belarus. If Kensi and Deeks convinced their Russian counterparts that NCIS was pursuing these scenarios and was focusing their efforts and intelligence on these locations, the Russians would believe that NCIS' attention was concentrated more than one thousand miles from where they actually believed Callen was being held and where Sam and Anna would most likely stage a rescue operation. This should allow Sam and Anna to operate without significant Russian interference. The first scenario involved a kidnapping as revenge for an operation in Chechnya in which Callen had participated as a CIA operative. This operation had resulted in the death of several militant Chechen terrorist leaders. Since the crackdown by Russian internal security forces in 2010, Chechen rebels had been weakened considerably, but with the rise of ISIS, they had allied themselves with other Islamic militant groups and regained some of their former strength. This may have led to their kidnapping Agent Callen as revenge for the earlier action. NCIS believed they may have targeted Callen because he was the only CIA operative from this earlier operation who was still active in the intelligence community. The second scenario involved kidnapping as revenge for an operation against the Russian mafia while Agent Callen was stationed in Russia. This operation, unlike Operation Cossack which was coordinated with Russian intelligence, did not actually take place on Russian soil. The operation investigated the mining of uranium in Kazakhstan and the smuggling of this radioactive ore into Iran by the Russian mafia. If the Russians offered NCIS no assistance, it was a good bet they were willing to let NCIS pursue these leads because they knew that they would be a waste of time.

Garrison waited for Anna and Sam at the coffee house he had used as his Moscow office for almost 40 years. Even after all these years, he remained an anonymous patron, a man indistinguishable from the numerous professionals and locals who frequented the shop on a regular basis. He had his cup of espresso and read the daily newspaper, _Nezavisimaya Gazeta_ , as he observed the customers and the people passing on the street outside, an unremarkable man unnoticed by those he watched. Garrison was a patient man, and his patience had served him well most of his life but not always. Many years ago when he was younger, he had been too patient—and it had cost him everything he loved: his wife, his daughter, and his son. He had never been that patient again.

When Anna and Sam entered the coffee house, all the tables were occupied. They walked to the counter and ordered two espressos, a strawberry strudel, and a cream horn, and after getting their espressos and food, they strolled leisurely through the coffee house until they stood next to Garrison's table.

Anna smiled and said in Russian, "There seem to be no vacant tables. Would you mind if my friend and I shared your table?"

Garrison nodded and motioned with his hand for them to sit down, "Not at all. I enjoy company."

"Thank you," Sam said as he sat and took a sip of his espresso.

Garrison continued to read his paper and Anna and Sam engaged in casual conversation about their sightseeing plans in Moscow later that day. Eventually, Garrison put his paper down and asked in Russian, "Have you seen anyone you know since your arrival in Moscow?"

"No," Anna answered, "we've seen no one we know—and no one who seems to know us—since we arrived in your city."

"That's good," Garrison continued, and then he slid a flash drive across the table to Sam. "A friend delivered this to me early today."

Sam picked it up and put it in his pocket in one smooth motion. "Have you seen what's on it?" Sam asked quietly.

"Yes," Garrison said and then took another sip of espresso. He looked back at his paper. Anna and Sam renewed their casual conversation about Moscow's tourist sites, drank their espresso, and waited. After he finished the article he was reading, Garrison folded his paper and spoke to them in a voice that was firm yet filled with emotion, "They have Grisha."


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks to everyone for your reviews; they are greatly appreciated! I have really enjoyed writing this story. I wanted to keep it as true to the show's characters as I could because even though I don't own any of them_ _, I think the characters Shane created are very special. I also wanted to write a suspenseful story, so I hope there is some of that. Oops! I didn't upload the revised chapter, but I have now (the only addition is a sentence in the Sam-Hetty conversation, but I thought it was important). Thanks again for the comments! They definitely keep me going!_

G was no longer sleeping next to Anna in his dream. He was wide awake. His legs and hips were being pulled across the roughest sandpaper he'd ever felt while his head and back were pounding repeatedly against a set of iron pipes. The hood again covered his head, but he could tell he was outside the hanger. An engine roared, a man yelled, and then suddenly it all stopped. G realized his handcuffs were again attached to the chain, but he wasn't suspended; he was attached to the back of an SUV, his head and upper body raised slightly off the ground. He'd been dragged, probably across the runway, because he could feel the shards of asphalt and bits of gravel embedded in the scrapes and scratches covering his hips and legs. His head and back, though not touching the ground, had bounced back and forth without restraint against the bumper. Every bone and muscle in his head and body ached. Now that it had stopped, the burning of his legs threatened to overcome his will, his determination to refuse to let his captors see his pain. G forced his mind to focus on the conversation taking place behind him. He learned that one of the early birds blamed him for their morning reprimand—and had decided to vent his anger by taking G for a short "drag" race. His partner had pursued and finally stopped him, probably afraid of even more reprisals from the older man. While they argued about how much they could punish G before the release deadline, G absorbed the sun's warmth and realized how much he'd missed something as simple as stepping outside. After more words, the driver exited the vehicle and slammed the door shut, and then laughing and in better spirits, both men walked back to the hanger, leaving G's bloodied body handcuffed in the afternoon sun. G breathed a little easier when they were gone because he hadn't yet been beaten by the pain.

Anna and Sam hadn't used their cell phones since they left L.A., and they'd disabled the GPS, so they had left no electronic footprint as they traveled, but now Sam needed to contact Hetty. They left the coffee house fifteen minutes after Garrison and headed to Beloruskky Station where he'd be waiting. Beloruskky had been built before World War I. It was ornate and cavernous, and with the noise of the crowds, the trains, and the public announcements, audio surveillance of any kind—even by sophisticated technology—was difficult to conduct and even more difficult to conceal. It made it an ideal meeting place for a private conversation.

Once inside the station, Anna and Sam located Garrison quickly; he had given them a detailed description of the interior and where he'd be. While Anna walked over to Garrison, Sam stopped and purchased two burn phones—without GPS. He then joined Anna who sat directly behind Garrison, back-to-back on a bench in the north end of the station not far from the entry to the train platforms. The noise in the station was like a thousand motors humming together. It was perfect. Once seated, Sam pulled the laptop out of the nylon utility bag, powered it up, and plugged in the flash drive. Anna plugged in a headset and then watched as Sam opened the video file. The opening shot of the video showed the older man who Sam figured must be Sergey. He addressed Nikita Reznikov directly. After a brief explanation that he was working at the request of a client, he proceeded to explain what Reznikov needed to do to secure the release of his son, Agent Callen. The filming stopped at this point, and when it began again, the speaker was in another room—much larger, it appeared—and behind him was Callen, suspended by his arms from the rafters. Anna caught her breath and looked away quickly, but then refocused on the screen. Callen was shirtless and his upper body was a mass of purple and black bruises. His head lolled forward and a large swath of duct tape covered his mouth, but when he raised his head and looked at the camera, he winked. Sam couldn't believe it; it was so quick, he almost missed it, but he rewound the video and there it was—a wink. Anna turned to Sam.

"Did he wink?" she asked with disbelief.

"Yea, he winked," and Sam couldn't help shaking his head. "I bet he's driving them crazy," he said smiling slightly at Anna. "Notice the duct tape? He hates it when people do that; it makes his lips itch."

Anna and Sam finished watching the video—the entire video lasted less than 10 minutes—and Anna translated the speaker's comments and demands for Sam. The video ended with the speaker instructing Reznikov to call a specific phone number on the third day. When he did, he would be given further instructions. Until then, the phone would be turned off.

Sam powered down his laptop and leaned back in his seat. Nikita, seated directly behind Anna, was sitting to Sam's right. Sam spoke to him quietly although he was certain no one could hear any portion of their conversation, "Garrison, I'm going to call Hetty and let her know we've met. We have a good idea of who the man is and where G is, but she's been working on pinning down G's location. I'm going to see if she's been able to do that."

"I imagine this man is working for the Russian government," Garrison stated simply, "because I can think of no one else I have worked against."

"That's our thought, as well. Our intelligence shows that the man, Sergey Polzin, often does contract work for them when their involvement might lead to an international incident."

"I've heard of Polzin but never encountered him." Garrison looked at Sam and asked, "Do you know how the government learned that I was still alive?"

Sam was grateful he didn't know the answer because that meant he could answer honestly, "We don't, Garrison, not yet." He didn't think he could have told G's father that the simple act of telling his son his name—something G had wanted desperately to know his entire life—might have put both of them in mortal danger. With that, Sam stood up, told Anna that he was going to make a quick call to Hetty, and walked into the center of the most crowded section of the station to place his call.

Back at OSP, Kensi and Deeks had just returned from their meeting with two Russian agents at which they had explained what NCIS considered the most likely explanations behind their missing agent. Of course, these explanations had been nonsense, but the purpose was to throw the Russians off and make them believe that NCIS did not even suspect Polzin's involvement and were, in fact, focused on two very different adversaries. The two men had appeared skeptical and Kensi was worried, but not Deeks.

"Why is it," Deeks asked with just a hint of irritation, "that all the Russians in L.A. seem to love the Beverly Wilshire?" Kensi just rolled her eyes as he continued as they headed up to Ops. "Does its opulence remind them of the czar? I mean," he said to no one in particular because Kensi had stopped listening, "you wouldn't think that'd be someone they'd want to remember considering they murdered his entire family."

As they entered Ops, Kensi said under her breath, "Shut up, Deeks," and then walked over to Hetty. "I don't know if we pulled it off, Hetty. They seemed a little suspicious of our stories."

"I don't think they were," Deeks interjected, "but it would have been easier if there'd been a female agent at our meeting. My charm works better on the ladies than it does on the guys. Isn't that right, Kensalina?" He turned to Kensi and smiled.

She couldn't resist the opening, "Unless, of course, it's your friend Kirkin. Your charm works on him every time." Deeks feigned surprise, but gave it to her.

"Touché," he said with a smile. He was glad to see her smile and didn't mind taking a hit to make it happen. She'd been so tight since learning about Callen he was afraid she might break.

Hetty offered Kensi moral support, "Ms. Blye, you and Nell and Mr. Deeks created plausible scenarios. They may very well have been skeptical, but not because of the scenarios but rather because we were asking for their cooperation. The Russians are always suspicious of anyone who asks to work with them, especially if they want information. It's still early yet."

"I hope so," was all Kensi could say. Deeks touched her should gently. She was worried—they all were—about Callen.

"I know they took the bait, Kensi," he said sincerely.

Suddenly, information began rolling across Eric's screen and it was obvious that it was something important.

"Hetty, the burn phone that sent the photos to Callen's phone is receiving a call—from L.A." He had been monitoring that phone number since Callen's disappearance and this was the first time since that night that it registered activity.

"Alert the NSA to capture this call," Hetty said.

"Already doing it," was Eric's response and in a few moments, the message appeared on the screen.

 _The leshy is safe in the forest of Devina._

"What the hell does that mean?" asked Deeks as everyone looked at it without comprehending its message. Everyone, that is, except Hetty. A smile barely lifted the corners of her mouth.

"That, Mr. Deeks, means that Mr. Callen is just where we thought he was and that Mr. Polzin will not be moving him."

"And you know that from this?" Deeks asked with a little disbelief even though it was Hetty.

"Yes." And then she explained, "Leshy refers to a man figure in Russian folklore—in this case, Mr. Callen—and the forest of the Devina refers to the forest along the Devina River which runs by Vitebsk Air Base. So, Mr. Callen is at Vitebsk and the Russians believed your performance Ms. Blye; the Russians believe Mr. Callen is safe where he is. Our rescue operation is a go. Well done, everyone." She turned to go to her office. The team members looked at each other with some relief, back at the message, and then Eric deleted it.

As Kensi and Deeks left Ops, he said to her, "I need to learn more folklore."

She smiled and replied, "Me, too."

Sam stood, keeping Anna and Garrison within view and also keeping watch for anyone who might come within earshot or display an unusual interest in him. He called the familiar number and wasn't surprised when she answered after only one ring.

"Mr. Hanna, it's good to hear from you."

"Hetty, good to hear your voice."

She paused, almost as if afraid to ask her question, "What have you heard of our friend?"

"We've seen him."

"Is he doing well?"

"He's been better, but he could be worse. They want to talk to his father."

"I see. We thought they might. And you, how are you doing?"

"The three of us are doing well. Do you have news from home?"

"Yes. Mr. Beale was right; you should definitely put that site on your itinerary. Oh, and you won't be seeing our friends; they have business in another part of the country."

"Good to know. We're leaving now and should be there tomorrow. Tell everyone that we'll be home soon."

"I'll let them know. Goodbye, Mr. Hanna."

Sam deleted the phone number, removed the battery, broke the phone in two, and threw it into the nearest trash can. He then walked back to Anna and Garrison.

"Well?" Anna asked.

"We're going to Belarus," Sam said.

Back on the runway, G had managed to remove the hood and his face drank in the afternoon sun. Even though he'd been outside for hours, he wasn't worried about getting sunburned. The sun wouldn't do anymore damage to his face than had already been done. G was frustrated that he was still handcuffed and chained. He hadn't been able to remove much of the asphalt or gravel from the cuts and scrapes because his hands were restricted. He'd shaken his legs so that some of the bits had fallen out, and his legs weren't burning as much as they had been earlier. He looked down at his pants. There was no way Hetty would ever let him wear these to work again even if she did let Beale wear shorts. G smiled. He really missed OSP and everyone who worked there—he missed the "dynamic duo" in Ops, the irritating touché "discussions" between Kensi and Deeks, his banter with Sam, and the short—but always enlightening—conversations with Hetty. He realized he'd left out Granger, but in all honesty, G didn't miss Granger all that much. He turned his face up to the sun and closed his eyes. There was nothing like being dragged behind an SUV to make a person wax philosophical—or maybe it was sentimental. Oh, God, he hoped he wasn't becoming sentimental. He needed to get away—and not like this. G figured out, chained to the back of this SUV in brilliant sunshine, that he hadn't taken a vacation in years because he didn't like being alone for too long anymore. Kensi had Deeks, Sam had Michelle and the kids, and even Nell had Eric—whenever she wanted to pull him in. The only team members who didn't have a "steady" companion were Hetty and him. But G realized that that was changing for him now because of Anna. Maybe he'd even ask Anna to go with him when he took his next vacation.

G was startled out of these thoughts by the arrival of another SUV. He watched as the older man and his subordinate exited and walked directly into the hanger. It had been quiet for hours, but now the quiet was disturbed by shouts of anger. In a moment, the two early birds came out of the hanger and walked quickly to G. They undid his handcuffs, draped his arms over their shoulders, and literally dragged him back to the hanger. Once inside, they laid him down on the concrete floor; the older man stood over him inspecting his newest injuries.

G watched him in silence for a moment and then said in Russian, "I think your man might be a little unclear about road safety and the meaning of the word 'passenger.'" The older man ignored him, but the eyes of G's driver narrowed and his mouth twitched. G had clearly hit a nerve. The older man turned to his subordinate who went to the cabinet and returned with some liquid and cloths. He then spoke to G.

"We're going to clean out the asphalt and gravel. It will probably sting, but it will make you more comfortable."

"What would really make me comfortable—since releasing me is out of the question—would be some water."

The older man hesitated for just a second before turning to another of his men and giving him an order out of earshot of G. The man, surprised, hesitated for a moment, but then went out to the SUV and returned with two bottles. He gave them to the older man who then held them just out of G's reach. "Agent Callen, you must choose: one of these bottles is water, one of them is vodka. Whichever one you choose, you must drink all of it."

G swallowed hard, "How do I know one of them is actually water?"

"Because I just told you one was."

"Right." G paused, "And if I don't choose?"

"Then I will."

G looked at each bottle as closely as he could, but he was exhausted and they were held at least 3 feet above his head. The labels had been torn off and each bottle was clear glass. "Do I have to drink it all at once?"

"No."

G would have started to sweat if his body water levels hadn't been so low. He couldn't do it; he couldn't choose. If he had to drink an entire bottle of vodka without any other fluids, he'd lose every bit of water his body still clung to.

"You have ten seconds, Agent Callen, before I choose for you."

G lifted his right hand and pointed at the bottle directly above it. The older man handed him the bottle. G struggled to sit up and then opened the bottle. He hesitated. The liquid didn't have an odor that he could detect, but he was tired. All the men watched him silently as he dipped one finger into the liquid and then placed it on his tongue. Water! G put the bottle to his lips and drank—and then pulled it away as he broke into a severe coughing fit.

"Be careful, Agent Callen. You don't want to spill that. It won't be replaced."

G replaced the bottle's cap and then lay back on the concrete, his right hand clutching the bottle and its precious contents. Once he lay back, the driver who had dragged him began picking out the asphalt and gravel and then poured in antiseptic. It was a task he relished because he could be as clumsy and as rough as he wanted to be. G winced and grimaced throughout the cleaning but never cried out, and when the driver was finally finished, G smiled weakly and said in Russian, "I hope you're not considering medical school. You really need to improve your bedside manner."


	8. Chapter 8

The train ride from Moscow was relatively quiet, but Sam could not relax. He reviewed the layout of Vitebsk Air Base yet again and went over in his mind what they needed and their timetable once they reached Smolensk. Garrison sat directly across from Sam and Anna sat beside Garrison. She had fallen into a restless sleep, lulled by the rhythmic motion of the train, and Sam did his best to not disturb her. They were all on edge and needing sleep and any rest—even an uneasy rest—was welcome. Garrison, Sam noticed, never closed his eyes and seldom spoke. Sam didn't blame him or try to engage him. This wasn't a situation that invited casual conversation, and he could only imagine the thoughts and emotions Garrison felt as he had watched the video. Sam remembered all too vividly how he had felt when Aiden was in danger—and how he'd almost killed Tahir Khaled with his bare hands in front of him. Garrison had risked his life for years to help others, usually complete strangers. What he had done had cost him his family: the murder of his wife, the death of his daughter—alone and thousands of miles away, and for more than thirty years, separation from his son. And now Garrison had met his son—as if by fate—only to see him captured and possibly killed because of Garrison's own actions years ago. Sam could sense his anger, guilt, despair, and determination, but like his partner, Garrison kept his feelings to himself. No doubt his emotional shell was a result of living in the shadows and the need for anonymity for so many years, the way G's was a result of his countless foster placements and the absence of family ties. Both had led oddly similar lives even though they lived thousands of miles apart and had had no personal contact with one another—both were impenetrable and unknowable to almost everyone they met. As Garrison stared out at the Russian landscape, Sam recognized that he and Garrison shared a common bond: their love and affection for the man now captive in Belarus and a commitment to do whatever was necessary to bring him home. Sam knew that Garrison would sacrifice himself for G even as Sam would have sacrificed himself for Aiden; he had seen it in his eyes and heard it in his voice. And Sam knew that G would never hold his partner responsible for anything that happened to his father during this rescue attempt, but Sam had made a solemn promise to himself that he would not—he could not—let anything or anyone prevent G and Garrison from having the time together they needed, they deserved, to finally get to know each other as father and son.

Hetty sat back in her chair and sipped her tea. It was late. Almost everyone else had gone home, but there was still work to do and tomorrow would be here soon enough. She set down her cup and reached for the phone. She needed to make a call. She wasn't surprised that he answered after only three rings. Hetty knew he hadn't been sleeping and heard the anxiousness in his voice. At least she'd heard from Mr. Hanna; Arkady hadn't had any word from Anna since she left L.A.

"Arkady, I wanted to let you know that I spoke with Mr. Hanna today and Anna is fine."

She heard him sigh, "Thank you, Henrietta, for letting me know. I know they are alright, but still I was worried."

"We all were," Hetty confessed. She continued, "We expect them to return with Mr. Callen in a few days."

"That's good." Arkady already sounded more relaxed. "Remember how you asked for my help?"

"I do, but we've learned that whoever took Mr. Callen is, in fact, after his father, Nikita Reznikov."

"It is the Russian government after him," he said with certainty.

Hetty sat up a little straighter. "So, you've heard from one of your contacts? Already?"

"I have." Hetty heard the pleasure in his voice that he had gathered this information so quickly. "Lovers have more access to classified material than any bureaucrat—and they're usually much more helpful."

The statement amused Hetty, and she found it to be quite true, based on her own personal experience. She waited for him to continue.

"A senior member of Russian intelligence was given the assignment several months ago to track down Nikita Reznikov. He was unhappy because he felt it was beneath him, being from the Cold War. Or so he told Sonya."

Hetty interrupted, "Arkady, it's late."

"Of course, Henrietta," Arkady said rather meekly. "He discovered that the man, Konstantin Chernoff, was actually Nikita Reznikov, and that he didn't die in 2008 as had been reported."

"How?" she asked.

"Through the coroner. The coroner admitted that Chernoff had asked for a favor: a false death certificate. He said it was to escape the Russian mafia, and Chernoff disappeared."

"And reappeared sometime later as Garrison," Hetty continued the thought.

"But," Arkady told her, "the Russian government does not know that Reznikov is Garrison, and they do not know what Nikita Reznikov looks like today—the photos and film from the Cold War are grainy and faded. And a little over a month ago, the intelligence officer working the case retired."

"So, the government hired Sergey to bring this episode to a speedy resolution, and the only means he found of identifying Reznikov was through his son, Mr. Callen."

"Sonya does not know how they found out Callen is Reznikov's son," Arkady paused. "Do you?"

"No." There was silence and Hetty knew that Arkady could tell that she had lied, but he would never be so rude as to accuse her. "Arkady, I have a question."

"Of course, Henrietta."

"Do you have contacts in Smolensk? Anna will need a car."

G couldn't remember being so bored for so long. His body still ached, but his physical pain was made more irritating by the intolerable mental tedium. He must have counted the rivets in the roof twenty times already. The bottle of water—which he had emptied not long ago—had rejuvenated his body and mind; now, he needed to put his new found energy to productive use. After the deliberately rough first aid attention he'd received, the men had basically ignored G while they played card games, talked, and conducted a little business. After an hour or two, they enjoyed some vodka, pickled herring, and sushi, and then left G alone in the hanger, locking the large rolling door securely from the outside. G remained handcuffed but no longer chained, so he was free to walk around the building's interior. Had they been aware of G's proclivity for escaping restraints—particularly handcuffs, they probably would not have left him free to search for odd bits and pieces, but the fact that they didn't know about this special talent led G to speculate that his abduction had been a hurried, even if well-planned, operation.

Getting to his feet proved to be more difficult than G had expected, but once standing, he found that he could move around on his own, albeit slowly and methodically. The last of the daylight lit the building's interior, and with the light fixtures disabled, G paid close attention to his surroundings as the shadows in the hanger increased in size. He moved first to the area where the men had been sitting, and rifling through the trash, he was able to find a few stale pieces of pastry, but no herring or sushi. He wasn't a huge fan of either, but both would have provided more protein—something his body craved—than the pastry. Still, stale pastry was more than he'd eaten in days. He wolfed it down and when it caught in his throat, he retched to bring it up so he could chew it more thoroughly before trying to swallow it again. He emptied a second trash can but found no food; instead, he found an old, rusty paper clip. He had used so many various implements as handcuff keys, G didn't need to see the handcuffs to pick the lock. His hands completed the action from memory. The handcuffs dropped off his wrists, and suddenly to be able to swing his hands more than six inches apart from each other—and in opposite directions—gave G an immediate sense of release. He vowed to remember this feeling, but right now, he needed to see if he could find another door.

Sam, Anna, and Garrison arrived in Smolensk as dusk began to settle on the town. As they walked through the station, Anna noticed a man standing along the corridor holding a sign written in the Cyrillic alphabet. She put her hand lightly on Sam's arm and both Sam and Garrison stopped. Anna opened her bag as though looking for something and spoke quietly to Sam, "I think that man has a message from Hetty."

"What makes you think that?" Sam asked glancing in the man's direction.

"His sign. It reads 'Henrietta Kolcheck.'"

Sam set his bag down and thought carefully before he spoke, "Okay, he may be from Hetty because she knew we were coming here. Garrison and I will go ahead but stay within earshot. If, when speaking with him, you have a sense that he might compromise our operation in any way, I'll take care of him when we leave the station."

Anna nodded in assent, and Sam and Garrison walked ahead of her and stopped several yards behind the man watching him discreetly but intently. Anna walked over to the man casually and said, "I'm Henrietta Kolcheck."

The man looked at her with some puzzlement before speaking. "I was told you were blond."

"Usually I am, but the same hair color can be boring."

The man, who was almost completely bald, smiled slightly, "I wouldn't know." He paused and then continued, "My friend Arkady contacted me. Do you know Arkady?"

"Very well," Anna answered with a smile.

"I wonder if we are talking about the same Arkady. What is his last name?" the man asked before continuing.

"The same as mine, Kolcheck," Anna replied easily and the man relaxed and pulled a key chain out of his pocket.

"Arkady told me that you, Henrietta, might be in need of a car during your visit to Smolensk and asked me to provide you with one."

Anna took the keys and said with surprise, "That was thoughtful of him."

The man chuckled, "I thought so, as well, and quite unlike the Arkady I know. You must be very special to him." He then handed her a business card. "Call me if you are in need of anything else during your stay."

"I will. Thank you."

"My pleasure," the man said as he turned to leave and then he turned back to Anna. "Oh, Arkady wanted me to be sure and tell you that he's anxious to see you and your brother—or maybe it was your lover—on you return." The man smiled and left.

Anna walked over to Sam and Garrison. Garrison's expression was unreadable, but Sam grinned mischievously. "I think," Sam said, "that Hetty—the real Henrietta—had a little talk with Arkady, don't you?"

"I'm sure she did," Anna agreed and then looked at the business card in her hand. Written on the back was the license plate of a car. "Even so, Arkady came through. I hope."

"We'll know in a minute, but if he doesn't want the wrath of Hetty descending on his head, it's a good bet he did," Sam said as they walked to the parking lot. "He knows people everywhere, I'll give him that. And having our own transportation will make things a whole lot easier," Sam noted with some relief. There was no rental car agency in Smolensk, so he had been prepared to "borrow" a vehicle for their operation which would have complicated the mission and created its own problems. Now, that was unnecessary and they could move ahead without attracting the attention of the local authorities. When they found the car, Sam sighed: a Renault Alliance. He turned to Anna, "I know Arkady didn't have a lot of time to make arrangements, but did he have to get a subcompact?"

G knew the hanger door was padlocked on the outside, but there must be a smaller exterior door. He continued searching the hanger and in the far back corner, he found it. It was locked, but the lock mechanism was part of the doorknob, and using the paper clip, G jiggled and cajoled until the knob turned in his hand and the door opened. He stepped outside and felt the cool evening breeze, the breath of night, gently caress his face—and he thought of Anna. The sun was now below the horizon and only a few faint rays illuminated the sky. In a moment, it would be completely dark. He needed to move. G knew he was somewhere in Belarus, but he had no idea where. What he did know was that east led to Russia, west led to Poland, and north led to Latvia and Lithuania, so G would go northwest. He crossed the runway quickly enough, but past the runway on the edge of the air base was a forest, and when he entered the forest, his progress became agonizingly slow. At this pace—if he ever made it out—he would have racked up more overtime than Hetty would ever approve. But, if he died out here, he'd never collect. That might make her happy, he thought wryly, but he doubted it. He knew she'd miss him.

Sam checked into the hotel in Smolensk under his new alias, Cecilio Mendoza, a Cuban national, while Anna checked in under her new alias, Elena Denisovich, a Russian citizen. Anna and Sam left their aliases Cheryl and Derrick on the train where they disappeared somewhere between Moscow and Minsk. To be Cuban and Russian would prove much more useful now since Belarus allowed citizens of both countries to freely cross their border, and changing identities midway into their operation provided added insurance against discovery. Garrison, of course, used the name that continued to keep him invisible to Russian authorities even now. After all three had checked into their rooms, they met in Sam's room and reviewed the operational plans he had prepared on the train. Tomorrow morning Anna and Sam would travel to Belarus to scout out the air base while Garrison would locate their Abbé Feria. When they met up later that afternoon, Garrison would place the call for his instructions, and after that phone call, the operation was a go.

G had slogged through the forest for almost three hours before he heard the sound of men yelling and crashing behind him. They were gaining rapidly, and although G tried to increase his pace, after the punishment he'd endured the last few days, he couldn't coax any more energy from his spent body. In a moment two men with nightsticks stood in his path. G grabbed a fallen branch, and though he blocked some of the blows, more and more reached him until he fell to his knees. The men continued striking him as G raised his arms to protect his head, and then an electric shock tore through his body and laid him out, prostrate and immobile, on the forest floor. Before he blacked out, G thought back to the only other time in his life he'd been tasered—by Henrietta Lange.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam rose early the next morning and went for a run through the streets of Smolensk. Traffic was light and the run helped relieve the stress and clear his mind. He'd gone over the plan a thousand times; today, he would see the actual lay of the land and make any alterations needed to ensure their success. As he coasted up to the hotel entrance, he reminded himself, "The only easy day was yesterday."

When Sam entered the lobby, Garrison was waiting for him. "Good morning, Cecilio. You're up early."

Sam replied with a thick Cuban accent, "Good morning, Garrison. Yes, I always try to take a morning run. It prepares you for the day ahead."

"I agree."

"Going out?"

Garrison nodded, "I've been told the coffee house down the street has a good cup of espresso. Would you like to join me?"

"I would, but Elena and I are taking a drive through the countryside today."

"It's a good day for that. Don't miss the Katyn Forest. The history is not good, but the forest itself is beautiful."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, "I'll tell Elena. Enjoy your espresso."

"I hope to see you when you return," Garrison said as he left the hotel and walked down the street to the coffee house. Once he had his cup, Garrison took a seat and perused the local papers. Later, he would visit the local morgue.

Upstairs at the hotel, Sam knocked on Anna's door. When she opened it, he noticed immediately that she had washed the brown rinse out of her hair; she was a blond again. She smiled, "The brown was good for Cheryl but not Elena."

Sam stepped into the room, but the door remained ajar. "Just remember: they may already know Anna by sight, so you should keep your head covered."

Anna reached behind her, grabbed a scarf off the bed, and wrapped it fashionably around her head. "Brings out the brown in my eyes, don't you think?"

Sam smiled, "It does." He then stepped out of the room, "I'll be down in ten. You ready to go?"

"Absolutely."

"Wait for me here." Sam's words were still hanging in the air as he disappeared up the stairs, taking steps two at a time.

G was once again in a familiar position—suspended from the rafters in the hangar only this time his toes barely touched the concrete floor. And the handcuffs had been tightened so that they bit into his wrists. The older man stood in front of him, and when G opened his eyes, the man struck him hard across the face and spoke with undisguised sarcasm, "You're very lucky we found you when we did, Agent Callen. A few more hours, and you'd probably have died in that forest."

"If you're waiting for me to say, 'Thank you,' I have to be honest," G replied, "I'm just not feeling all that grateful." He prepared himself for another blow. It came and then the older man took a step back. He had never lost his composure like this before. Something about Agent Callen infuriated him, and he felt himself losing control. Did Agent Callen want to be killed? If so, he wasn't going to be disappointed, but he—and not Agent Callen—would decide when and how.

The drive to Belarus was uneventful. Sam kept careful track of the time the trip took beginning with their departure from the hotel. When they reached the Belarusian border, they were briefly stopped while a border guard checked their passports.

Anna handed her passport to the guard and began a conversation in Russian, "We expected the crossing to be busier." The guard only nodded, so she continued. "Maybe visitors come over later in the day or at night?"

"Visitors seldom come. The commercial traffic comes early and leaves late."

"Well, I'm glad we missed that," she said as he handed her back her passport.

Sam looked at her as they drove away from the border crossing. "He didn't even say 'Welcome to Belarus' or 'Enjoy your stay.' No wonder they don't get many visitors."

Vitebsk was located in the region known as the Border Zone—which allowed the authorities to stop anyone without cause and was semi-restricted to non-citizens, so Anna drove well within the posted speed limit and conscientiously observed all traffic signs. As they approached the exit for E95, the road that led north to Vitebsk, Sam kept focused on the highway, but as the traffic was light and Anna was driving so conservatively, the exit was easy to spot. Sam noted the exact number of miles from the border to this exit and the time it took to get there.

In another hour and a half they had passed through the city of Vitebsk and were on the smaller road that led to the decommissioned air base. The road started out in relatively good condition, but as they drove further north, the road deteriorated into broken asphalt and potholes. Sam was driving now and he was taking it slow; they could ill afford to break down because they blew a tire or damaged the oil pan.

"According to the information that Eric sent, the airbase should be approximately 300 yards ahead on this road," Sam said as he pulled the Renault off the road and onto what looked to be a small, overgrown dirt path or fire road. He drove another 100 yards—well out of sight of the road behind them—and parked. He turned to Anna as he opened his door, "We walk from here."

"Let's go," she said getting out and stepping in behind Sam as he led the way. Their progress was slow. As they crept forward, Sam kept a watchful eye out for possible booby traps or devices designed to warn of someone approaching. So far, he'd seen nothing. Hetty seemed to have been right when she said that Sergey felt very safe in his location. And then he got a nagging, horrible knot in the pit of his stomach: What if G wasn't here? What if their intel was wrong? What if Hetty had misinterpreted the message, and G was somewhere hundreds of miles away? He stopped so suddenly that Anna almost bumped into him.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Sam looked at her and for just a split second she saw the confusion in his eyes. "Nothing," he said and moved forward again.

She put her hand on his arm and stopped him. "I worried, too, that we might have got it wrong, that maybe Callen isn't here."

Now Sam didn't bother to hide the desperate fear that gnawed at him, "And if we did get it wrong and he's not here?"

Anna answered with a strength and steadiness that she did not honestly feel, "Then we start again and find him—wherever he is. But I don't think we got it wrong, Sam."

Sam looked at Anna and saw a little of what G saw in her. "We didn't get it wrong," he said with confidence, and then they moved forward until they could get an unrestricted view of the air field and its structures.

Back in Smolensk, Garrison finished his espresso and then visited the local morgue. The coroner was on vacation, so Garrison spoke with the assistant coroner, a young woman who had been working in the morgue for a little over six months. Garrison addressed her quietly and with obvious discomfort, "I have tried reaching Ivan for several months, but without success. If he had family, I would have called them, but he had no one but me. I should have checked on him sooner."

The assistant coroner spoke to Garrison in a comforting tone, "Please, do not blame yourself. It may be that your friend is perfectly well and there is some other reason he has not been in contact with you."

"I've checked the local hospitals, but they have no patients by his name or matching his description." He paused, "I understand this is a strange request, and if you are unable to oblige me, I understand."

"It's not as strange as you might think, and I can oblige you" she smiled. "If your friend is here, then you will be able to grieve, and if he isn't, then there is the possibility that he is fine and will be in contact with you again."

"I appreciate your help very much. You have such a pleasant manner, it is a shame that you do not work with the living instead of the dead."

"Even the dead need compassion," she said with genuine feeling as she ushered Garrison behind the counter and led him into a back room. She turned on the light. Five bodies draped with white body cloths lay in rows on racks along the wall. "These are the unidentified bodies." She and Garrison moved along the rows and at every body, they paused and she gently pulled the cloth back from each and Garrison soberly glanced at every face. When she replaced the cloth over the fifth body, he turned to her.

"Perhaps you are right. There may be another reason Ivan has not returned my calls. None of these men are him, so there is a little hope."

"I trust you will hear from your friend soon," she said as she escorted him to the front door. He thanked her again and she watched him walk away down the street. "So sad," she whispered to herself and then went back to work.

Sam and Anna crept through the forest and approached the air base from the southwest. As they moved to the edge of the forest that bordered the base, Sam motioned for Anna to stop. Just like the layout Eric had provided, Sam and Anna were now approximately 400 yards from the hangar. Two SUVs were parked in front of it and smaller outbuildings were located on either side. The hanger's main door was open and Sam and Anna watched as two men—one older and apparently the leader, Sergey—exited the hangar and got into one of the SUVs. They were followed by two other men. After a few instructions to the men who were obviously staying behind, the SUV pulled out and left the air base, taking the road that Sam and Anna had recently driven. Once their SUV was out of sight and the men had returned to the hangar, Sam and Anna moved further north in order to get a clear line of sight into the interior, and after another thirty minutes or so, Sam and Anna had their view inside. Sam put the scope to his eye and there was G, suspended from the rafters like he had been in the video. He looked a little more beat up, but at least he was still alive.

"Is that Callen?" Anna whispered.

"Yea. We didn't get it wrong." Anna put out her hand for the scope, and Sam handed it to her. She looked through it longer than Sam had, and when she handed it back to him, her hand shook ever so slightly.

"We could get him now, Sam. They're only two of them." Anna was almost pleading.

Sam put the scope away and turned to her. "We could, Anna, but that's not the plan. If we don't do this the right way, they'll just come after him again. You know that, I know that, and G knows that. We're gonna do this one time and we're gonna do this the right way and we're gonna do this tomorrow."

"You're right, Sam, I know, but we're so close and he . . . .," her voice trailed off.

"Anna, he'll survive until tomorrow. I promise." Anna offered a half-hearted smile, and Sam continued. "Let's finish our surveillance and get back. We have to be there when Garrison makes the call."

With that, Sam and Anna turned their attention back to their primary purpose and finished their assessment of the air base and surrounding area, Sam stopping often to check distances and sight lines through his scope. By the time they returned to the Renault, Sam knew exactly where he wanted Garrison and Anna to be tomorrow for the exchange because he had a very good idea of where he would be. It depended now on the phone call, Garrison's power of persuasion, and Sergey's interest in completing this job.


	10. Chapter 10

The drive back to Smolensk was uneventful except that the Russian border guard, on seeing Sam's Cuban passport, insisted on a Bob Marley song before he would let them proceed. It was the first time in his life Sam was irritated by a request to sing, and the first time in his life Sam intentionally butchered any song—especially a Bob Marley classic. But butcher it he did, so badly in fact, that before he finished the first verse of "No Woman, No Cry," the border guard waved them through. After leaving the border crossing, Sam turned to Anna, "That was intentional to get us across the border. I actually have an excellent singing voice."

"I'm sure you do," she said, but her words carried just a hint of disbelief.

"G will tell you I do."

"I'm sure he will," she managed to say even though she had to press her lips together to prevent a smile.

"I'll prove it later," Sam assured her. He was still somewhat upset about mangling that classic, but his thoughts soon returned to the task ahead of them.

When they arrived at the hotel, the front desk clerk handed Sam a note that Garrison had left for him. After reading the note, Anna and Sam headed to an Internet café two blocks from the hotel. On their way, Sam ducked into a store and purchased three additional burn phones. That gave them four total when including the one purchased in Moscow. Garrison waited inside.

"How was your drive?" Garrison asked as the three took seats at a table.

"Uneventful but very useful," Sam said.

"We saw an old friend of ours," Anna interjected. "We didn't have a chance to talk, but it was nice to see a familiar face."

"I bet it was," Garrison said in agreement.

Sam looked at Garrison, "What about your day? Good?"

"Yes, it was good. I found Abbé Faria."

"That is good," Sam smiled and looked at Anna, who nodded in agreement. "Is he close by?"

"Very close," Garrison said, "and there's an alley behind the building."

"Even better," Sam noted.

Anna suddenly stood up. "I sometimes need to eat when I'm anxious." She looked at Sam and Garrison, "Either of you want anything?" Both of them shook their heads "no." When Anna returned with her espresso and éclair, Sam had the burn phone out and the number Garrison was to call for instructions.

"This phone," he said, "doesn't have a GPS chip, and it's doubtful—based on what we saw today—if Sergey has the capability of tracing a call from the hangar, but we don't know where he goes and if he has access to more sophisticated equipment. To make tracing a call more difficult, it would be best to make the call outside the city where there are no more than two cell towers in the area."

"Won't that make pinpointing his location easier?" Anna asked.

"It'll make it more difficult because a cell tower's range can be as much as 40 miles in any direction, and if there are no more than two towers, they can't triangulate. If the towers are 30 miles apart, that means the call could originate anywhere within an area approximately 120 miles long by 80 miles wide. That's a lot of miles."

"That sounds good. Where will we go to make the call?" Garrison asked.

"I thought we'd drive toward Vyazma. It's a major highway; there should be towers along the entire route." Sam looked at Anna who had only sipped her espresso and hadn't touched her éclair. "Do you want to finish those?"

She pushed them away from her and stood up. "I'm full."

"All right, then," Sam said as he stood up, "let's get this done."

Sam noticed the first tower about 40 miles outside Smolensk, and then each of the following towers was spaced about 30 miles apart. About 15 miles past the third tower, they pulled onto the shoulder of the road. Sam handed a burn phone to Garrison and turned to Anna, "Let's step outside."Anna and Sam exited the car and Garrison made the call. In less than 20 seconds, Garrison opened the car door and stepped out. Sam walked over with a puzzled expression.

"He told me to call back in 20 minutes."

"Could he be trying to trace the call?" Anna asked.

"Maybe," Sam said thoughtfully, "but I don't think that's the reason. Sergey has kept this operation small and off the grid. There's nothing to suggest that that's going to change. There must be another reason."

When the 20 minutes were up, Garrison re-entered the car and made the call a second time. Anna and Sam stood behind the car and waited. The call lasted less than five minutes, but to them it seemed like hours. When the call ended and Garrison opened the door, they both moved instinctively to him. Garrison handed Sam the phone; he took it apart and destroyed it as he'd done in Moscow. But something was wrong. It was a moment before Garrison spoke.

"Grisha heard everything," he said and suddenly Sam knew why Sergey had wanted twenty minutes more.

"That son of a bitch."

Sergey enjoyed what had just happened. When Garrison called the first time, Sergey was on his way back to the hangar, but when he called twenty minutes later, Sergey put him on speaker and held the phone inches from G. As soon as G heard his father's voice, he cried out. Sergey had to move some distance away to continue the conversation, but he repeated the important points for G's benefit. And the first few words of his father had done what Sergey had been unable to do even after several days: they had left G thoroughly beaten. Indeed, for the first time since Agent Callen had joined him, Sergey almost felt remorse for what he was doing—almost. But his stronger emotion was satisfaction, satisfaction that something as simple as a phone call could crush Agent Callen's spirit when no amount of physical pain and punishment had been able to. Sergey rationalized that killing Agent Callen would actually be the humane thing to do; he knew the guilt he would feel for betraying his own father would make life unbearable. After the phone call, Sergey walked over to G who was hanging motionless. He stood in front of him and jabbed him in the chest; G looked at him, and there was anger and hate but no fight in his eyes.

"Nothing to say? No smart remark, Agent Callen? Or should I say Grisha Alexandrovich Nikolaev Callen? After all, your name is how we discovered your father was still living. How kind of him to give it to you, and how kind of you to give him to us. But, don't worry. As you heard, your father has demanded your freedom in exchange for his captivity, and we have agreed. Tomorrow, you will be on your way home, and your father, Nikita Reznikov, will once again be on his way to a Russian prison. This time, he will die in prison. Agent Callen, Russia thanks you." Sergey waited for a response—something, anything—but there was nothing. Agent Callen was the most emotionally volatile person he had ever met: defiant to the point of death, destroyed by his sense of duty and responsibility. As he walked away, Sergey was amazed that he had survived as long as he had.

Late that night, Sam called Anna's room. "Garrison and I are going to get Abbé Faria."

"Be careful; call when you get back." When she hung up, Anna stripped her gun and cleaned it for the third time.

At noon the following day, Anna, Sam, and Garrison checked out of the hotel. Anna, wearing the scarf, sunglasses, and loose-fitting clothing was unrecognizable, and Sam dressed for action once again resembled Agent Hanna. In the parking lot, Sam used one of the burn phones to make a call.

"Good morning, Mr. Hanna," Hetty said, and even though it was 5:00 am in Los Angeles, she sounded wide awake. She had been at OSP for several hours.

"Good morning, Hetty. The exchange is set for 1600 hours our time."

"Very good. Your transportation has been arranged. I'll alert them at the proper time." She paused for just a moment. "'Quickness is the essence of the war.'"

"You'll hear from us by 1630. Oh, and tell them to bring some fireworks."

"Godspeed, Mr. Hanna," she said with an earnestness he seldom heard, and then the line went dead. Sam destroyed this phone as he had the others, and then they drove to Belarus.

They arrived on the outskirts of Vitebsk Air Base a little before 2:30 pm. Anna drove onto the dirt road she and Sam had used the day before and again pulled out of sight and parked. Sam got out of the car and got his sniper rifle from the trunk. He stopped at the car and spoke to Anna. "Don't leave before 3:30; that will give me time to get in place. Remember where I'll be and place yourselves accordingly. Once shots are fired, only move if you have to. The biggest wild card in this operation is G. We need to get him secured as quickly as possible." Anna and Garrison listened intently, and when Sam had finished, he gently squeezed Anna's shoulder and shook Garrison's hand. "I'll see you on the runway." With that, Sam disappeared into the forest and Anna and Garrison waited.

At precisely 3:30 pm, Anna pulled back onto the road that led to the air base. As she entered the base, Anna noticed that the SUVs were both parked at the north end of the hangar's main door, and that the main door was open. She continued driving until she was almost directly opposite the SUVs and approximately 100 yards away. She stopped and Garrison got out of the car. Anna then drove toward the hangar and stopped about 40 yards from the hangar entrance. She opened the driver door, stepped out, and stood behind it. In a few moments, Sergey appeared in the doorway with two men and between them, G. He was again hooded and his hands were still handcuffed.

The two men stepped forward a few feet, pushing G forward with them, and then removed the hood. G looked immediately past Anna to his father. The men shoved him in the direction of Anna, but he resisted with as much strength as he could. He wasn't going to leave.

Garrison called to him, "Grisha, it is alright! Please go!" But G still struggled and refused to move to the car.

Anna began to panic. If G didn't get out of the way, everything would go wrong. She stepped out from behind the car door. "My name is Hannah Lawson! I have come to take you home, Agent Callen!"

Abruptly, G ceased struggling and stared at Anna. His mind raced. Who was she? She said she was Hannah Lawson, but she wasn't. How did she know about Hannah Lawson? Her voice sounded familiar, but she didn't look familiar. But G must know her. If he knew her, then this wasn't an exchange; it was a rescue. If it was a rescue, G needed to move. He began walking slowly in Anna's direction. When G was halfway to the car, Sergey looked to the line of trees across the runway and waited. And then he knew something was wrong. And as that thought entered Sergey's mind, the echo of a sniper's rifle from behind the trees announced that something was, indeed, very wrong. Sergey fell where he stood, and in the next ten seconds the man to his left fell. The remaining man drew his gun, and fired at the nearest target—G—as he retreated back inside the hangar. As soon as Sergey dropped, Anna bolted from the car to cover G, and Garrison was also on the move.

When Anna reached G, he was down and she saw blood pooling on the ground beside him. Shots continued from the hangar as she dragged him back to the protection of the car. When she reached the car with G, Garrison was there and had gotten some bandages and antiseptic and was already tearing G's shirt to locate the wound. Suddenly, Sam was beside Anna. He tossed his sniper rifle down and pulled out his pistol. He looked back at Garrison who was wrapping G with bandages.

Garrison looked up, "It's a through-and-through."

Sam turned to Anna, "Let's finish this."

At 1630 exactly, Sam used another burn phone to place a call.


	11. Chapter 11

_Well, the story is **almost** over; I think everything should be wrapped up in one final chapter still to come. I hope you folks have enjoyed reading it because it's been an absolute blast to write! I almost hate for it to come to an end—it's been so much fun—but time to start a new story—or write a sequel. Anyway, as always, I appreciate the reviews!_

Sam and Garrison moved G to the hangar and made him as comfortable as they could. Anna had dipped her scarf in water, and while his head rested in her lap, she gently stroked his face with the damp cloth. He regained consciousness and looked up at her as her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders. He smiled, "Hannah Lawson?"

"I couldn't say Anna Kolcheck. Anyway, it did get you moving."

"Yea, it did . . . Too bad I wasn't faster," G said as he glanced at the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. He tried to rise up so that he could see the interior, but he was too weak and laid his head back down. "Is everybody okay?"

"Everybody who needs to be okay is," Anna smiled.

Seeing that G was awake, Sam came over and knelt down beside him. "How you doing, G?"

"I've been better." He paused and then flashed that grin that Sam knew so well. "How you liking Belarus?"

"I'm not making a return visit," Sam admitted with a little disgust.

"Me, neither," G confessed and then stifled a grimace as he took a breath.

Sam's eyes flashed sudden concern. "What do you need, G?"

"About a month in bed. Think Hetty will approve it?"

"She'll probably demand it—and make me babysit you."

G laughed slightly and then started coughing violently. "Geez, it's been a few days since I've done that."

"Heard a joke?"

"No laughed at one of yours. That hurts."

"It's usually your jokes that hurt," Sam said with a grin as he poured water into a small cup and handed it to G. Anna's hand hovered near the cup, but she didn't offer to help. She was ready to but knew he wanted to do it himself. No matter what his condition, G remained reluctant to rely on anybody but himself. Sam watched G's hand shake as it lifted a cup that weighed no more than 8 ounces, struggle to raise his head enough to be able to take a sip, and spill water as he held it to his lips, but eventually G drank it all and let the cup drop from his hand. That small effort exhausted him, and he laid his head back in Anna's lap. Sam stood up and started to walk away, but G noticed it.

"Where you going, big guy?"

"There are some things that need to be done before we're transported out."

"Need some help?"

Sam turned and looked at G with amazement, "You're kidding, right?"

G raised his eyebrows and gazed at Anna, "What about Anna?"

Anna stared at G with mock surprise, "I'm glad you're feeling better." Then she carefully arranged some blankets to pillow his head and stood up. "I'll help, Sam."

G relaxed as he lay back, and then he noticed Garrison standing silently beside him. G struggled to sit up but failed. Garrison pulled over a chair and sat down so that they were face to face. There was a significant pause before either of them spoke. G finally broke the silence, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what, Grisha?"

"For this. For everything," G said and his expression and his voice reflected his regret and his burden.

"For everything? That's a lot for one man to be responsible for."

"For putting you in danger, then. For almost getting you sent back to prison."

Garrison spoke sincerely, "But you didn't put me in danger, Grisha." And then he was silent before continuing. "If anyone put someone in danger, it was I who put you in danger," and when G started to interrupt, Garrison held up his hand to stop him. "No, Grisha, I put you in danger many years ago, just as I put your mother and your sister in danger."

"You were doing what you thought was right."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean I wasn't responsible for the consequences: I've lived with the death of your mother and the death of your sister every day of my life." Garrison paused and G looked away, fighting back tears. "The last time we met, Grisha, I asked you if you hated me."

"I told you then I didn't hate you. I don't hate you," G insisted.

"And I'm grateful that you don't hate me. But now," Garrison continued, "I'm asking you to forgive me."

There was a much more pronounced silence as G turned his gaze to the ceiling and now one or two tears rolled down his face. He turned back to Garrison. "I don't blame you."

With patience, Garrison said, "But do you forgive me, Grisha?"

"You don't need my forgiveness."

"For me, I do."

G struggled with his emotions and a few more hot tears fell. Had he loved his mother? He didn't really remember her, that was true, but he loved the _thought_ of his mother—of having a mother, someone who cared for him and loved him and protected him. And what about his sister, Amy? His memories of her were confused and incomplete, but he loved the _idea_ that she had loved him, that she had called him "baby brother," and that she had wanted to be with him more than anything else. And she had died alone, just like his mother, and G had lived alone for more than 30 years. And now his father—the man who had never come for him in all those years, the only living connection to his mother and his sister—was asking G to forgive him. G looked at Garrison and when he spoke his voice carried the loneliness of more than 30 years. "Do I forgive you? I don't know. But," G continued, "if you don't come with me now, I don't think I ever will."

Garrison smiled with relief. "Then we have a place to start to get to know one another." He paused before he stood up, "I should help Anna and Sam." G closed his eyes and turned away.

Sam carried the body of the man he'd killed in the sniper nest back to the hangar. Sergey had been sloppy and careless in arranging the exchange. Evidently, so many of his recent operations had been successful and uncomplicated that he failed to consider and prepare for the possibility of a rescue attempt. The misdirection from OSP had been good, but Sam recognized the contribution of Sergey's own hubris and G's ability to distract and irritate his captors. Sergey and his men were so intent on G that they neglected to consider the options their adversaries might pursue. Sam, for instance, found the sniper's preparations when he and Anna conducted their reconnaissance just yesterday; that was just simple sloppiness. Not that Sam was complaining. Thinking about all the things that could have gone wrong, he was grateful for Sergey's mistakes. Now, if there were no more complications, they would be on their way home in less than six hours.

Anna drove the Renault closer to the hangar and removed the rest of their supplies, but there was one object she couldn't remove alone. Garrison walked back to the Renault's trunk and together he and Anna lifted the body bag out and set it on the ground beside the car.

Sam dropped the sniper's body at the south end of the hangar and then went to retrieve the last member of Sergey's team. This man—the one who had fled back into the hangar—had tried to escape through the door G had used earlier but had forgotten that Sergey had secured it to prevent any future use. Sam knew Anna was angry, but he realized just how angry when the two of them had cornered the man and she had emptied her clip into him even though he'd been killed by the first bullet. Maybe, Sam thought, that was the reason G took care to not provoke her.

When Sam brought the body to the front of the hangar, they had everything needed to create the tableau that would provide the investigating authorities—and the Russian interests—with the NCIS version of events. The pieces of this puzzle, along with additional misinformation, should ensure everyone's safe return. After dropping the body off, Sam walked over to G to see if he needed anything. When he kneeled down next to his partner, something about G's appearance worried him. Sam shook him until G woke up.

"Can't a guy get some rest?" G asked with some annoyance.

"You okay, G?"

"I was sleeping . . . pretty soundly, too."

"Any trouble breathing?"

"Just a little. It's nothing, Sam, really." Sam noticed that G's breathing was short and more labored than it had been an hour ago.

"What about your ribs? Do you think any of them are broken?"

"Didn't you ask me this an hour ago?"

"Yea, but you weren't having trouble breathing then."

"It's just chest pains."

"Does your chest hurt more than it did an hour ago?"

"I don't think that's possible. Really," G said with some exasperation, "it's nothing a few hours of sleep won't fix."

Sam stepped away as G closed his eyes again, but he was clearly worried. Anna and Garrison joined him.

"What is it, Sam?" Garrison asked quietly.

"Something's wrong. G's starting to have trouble breathing."

"What does that mean?" Anna asked.

"I'm not sure," Sam said, "but I think he may have a hemothorax."

"What does _that_ mean?" Anna asked again. "Is that serious?"

"It means," said Garrison, "that blood is filling up the space between his ribs and lungs."

"It means," Sam said looking back at G, "that if we don't drain the blood, the pressure of the accumulated blood can affect his ability to breathe."

"There must be something we can do," Anna looked anxiously from Sam to Garrison.

"It's been a long time since I've put in a chest drain," Sam said.

"What do you need, Sam?" asked Garrison.

"I need a catheter, some rubber gloves, and rubber bands."

"I'll go," Anna said at once. She went to the Renault, but Sam stopped her—pointing to the bullet holes—so she took one of the SUVs instead. When she pulled out the noise startled G, and Sam and Garrison walked over to him. Sam knelt down beside him again.

G looked at him with foreboding. "Now what?"

"G, I think you have a hemothorax."

The expression on G's face showed he knew exactly what that meant. "You want to cut me?"

"I have to, G. If I don't, you won't be able to breathe. You know that."

"I hate needles, but I hate tubes sticking out of my chest, too."

"G, . . . ."

G waved him off, "I know. Do you even have tubing?"

"Anna's gone to get a catheter."

"I hope she gets a small one."

"It can't be too small, G," Sam reminded him.

G shook his head wearily. "This has been a hell of a week: kidnapped, beaten, tasered, shot, and now my partner's gonna cut a hole in me."

Sam smiled, "You just have good karma, I guess." And then he turned serious. "Which side?"

G closed his eyes, took a breath, and concentrated. "Right."

"Okay, that's good."

"Yea, it is. Nowhere near my heart," he said sarcastically. "By the way, have you ever put in a chest drain?"

"Yes, I have."

"Did he survive?"

"Yes, he did."

"Okay, then. Let's make it two for two," G said and closed his eyes. Sam stood up and walked a short distance away. He took out his combat knife, grateful that he always kept it razor sharp. In less than an hour, Anna pulled up to the hangar.

Sam was impressed. "How fast did you drive?"

"As if Callen's life depended on it," she said as she handed him the bag of items he needed. He took out the catheter; it would work fine. He rinsed the knife blade with antiseptic and then cut the tubing to a workable length.

He walked over to G who couldn't conceal the anxiety he felt as he unbuttoned his shirt. Sam knelt next to G and raised his upper body while Anna removed his shirt, careful not to disturb the bandage that covered the gunshot wound in his shoulder. Once his shirt was off, Sam lowered G back down. He turned to Garrison, "You'll need to hold his shoulders still." Garrison moved and placed his hands securely on G's shoulders and held them firmly against the floor. Then Sam turned to Anna, "You'll need to keep his hips still." Anna straddled G's thighs, her hands pressed firmly against them holding them against the floor. Sam cleaned his blade again and then methodically counted G's ribs until he found the spot for the incision. He swabbed it with antiseptic and then looked at G who was watching with resigned stoicism. "This is gonna hurt, G. I'm sorry."

Through gritted teeth, G retorted, "You will be. Just get it done, Sam."

The blood seeped from the cut and Sam maneuvered the tubing through and into the cavity. G grimaced and groaned and then passed out. Sam worked quickly, and when the tube was placed correctly, he covered the exposed end with the rubber glove and secured it with a rubber band, then cut an end off of one of the glove's fingers. He then raised G's limp right arm above his head. The blood that had collected began draining, and Sam let out a huge sigh of relief. Anna and Garrison also relaxed and released G who was breathing more normally.

"Garrison," Sam asked, "Anna and I will be right back."

"Of course, Sam."

Sam turned to Anna, "Up to taking one last drive in Belarus?"

"Let's go," she said as each of them entered an SUV and drove away from the base, Anna leading the way. Garrison turned back to G and moved his chair so that he had a clear view of the entrance to the base as he watched his son sleep.

Anna and Sam returned in one SUV in less than an hour. The sun was setting and the base would soon be completely dark except for the flashlights they carried. While there was still some light, they staged the scene. They placed Sergey and one of his men in the remaining SUV, while they placed a third on the ground beside it. The fourth, the sniper Sam had killed, they left at the south end of the hangar. Then Sam opened the body bag that lay beside the Renault and lifted out one of the unidentified corpses Garrison had seen at the morgue during his earlier visit. The body was very similar in height, weight, and age to Garrison. This body they placed in the Renault, and then Sam poured gasoline into each of the gas tanks from a gas can. Anna took out the business card she was given at the railway station and called the man who'd met her. She explained that she wouldn't be returning the Renault, but there was an SUV in excellent condition, parked out of view on a small dirt road off the main highway to Vitebsk. She gave him the exact coordinates and told him that the keys were under the floor mat. She suggested he bring new license plates. He thanked her and said he'd pick it up early tomorrow and wished her well on her trip home.

At 9:45 pm, Sam heard the faint whirring sound of a Black Hawk helicopter. He immediately laid out flares and moved G out to the runway. As the Black Hawk touched down about 300 yards from the hangar, Sam moved G as quickly as he could to the chopper as a medic descended and gave him a hand. They got G on board and secured him in a gurney and hooked him up to an IV. Anna and Garrison boarded the chopper as G was being secured and the medic was checking the chest drain. Sam took a block of plastic explosives and ran back to the cars picking up the flares he'd laid down for the helicopter as he went. He left a small piece of the explosives in the hangar; the remaining explosives he divided between the cars. Then he poured the remaining gas over the bodies, put the gas can near the SUV, and on his way back to the chopper, fired into the gas tanks of both cars. They were immediately engulfed in flames, intensified by the explosives. Sam boarded the chopper and the Black Hawk was outbound after spending less than fifteen minutes on the ground. As Sam settled in, G reached out and tapped his leg. Sam leaned over and G said, pointing to the medic, "Tell him I want _a lot_ of pain medication."


	12. Chapter 12

_Well, this is the end. I've had so much fun; I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think-I appreciate it! I wanted to write a story that could actually be an episode (or two). Thanks to everyone who's "followed" or selected "favorite"-as a first time author, it means a lot to know that people like your work. Again, thanks and I'm looking forward to writing more._

Hetty sat in her chair and poured a finger of her finest scotch for herself and Granger. They toasted and then savored the liquor and the safe extraction of their team members from Belarus.

"Mr. Hanna called as soon as they cleared Belarusian airspace," Hetty said with obvious relief.

"Everyone's okay then?"

"Mr. Callen is in poor shape, so I've been told," Hetty answered dryly, "but Mr. Hanna and Ms. Kolcheck are both fine."

"They had permission to enter Lithuanian and Polish airspace?" Granger asked.

"Absolutely. They gave their permission as soon as they learned the nature of the mission."

"That's good," Granger said and each took a sip of their drinks.

"It is," Hetty agreed. "If they hadn't, . . . ." Hetty didn't need to finish her thought. Granger knew that if either government had refused permission, it would have answered to Henrietta Lange—and political relations be damned. When her people were in trouble, Hetty expected everyone to help or to get the hell out of her way.

"When do they leave Ramstein?"

"That depends entirely on Mr. Callen's condition and the doctor's evaluation," Hetty said. "Although extensive, Mr. Hanna doesn't believe that any of Mr. Callen's injuries are life-threatening or severe enough to prevent his being transported expeditiously."

"Will they be coming into Edwards or Pendleton?"

"Pendleton."

Granger paused a moment. "What about Callen's father?"

"That," Hetty said with solemnity and a lowered voice, "is another matter."

Granger understood and silently finished his drink.

The Black Hawk touched down at Lask Air Base in Poland at 4:16 am to refuel. As soon as the chopper landed, Sam jumped out and made a quick trip to the commissary to pick up some energy bars and water for the remainder of their trip to Ramstein. That leg of the trip would be another six hours, and although they would all sleep some of that time, it had been almost 10 hours since any of them had had a substantial meal. They'd all need some nourishment before they arrived.

When they arrived at Ramstein a little over six hours later, all of them had drunk two liters of water, and Sam and Garrison had eaten two bars while Anna had eaten one. Once the Black Hawk's propellers stopped, a medical team rushed to help the medic on board transport G to the hospital ward. The others descended from the chopper and followed them inside the ward. They watched as the team wheeled G into a room to be attended by physicians, and a warrant officer approached them.

"Special Agent Hanna?"

"Yes," Sam answered as he turned to face the officer.

"Special Agent Callen is being examined and his condition evaluated, and if the doctors determine that his condition permits, you're scheduled to depart on a transport to Pendleton later tonight." He paused and smiled, "Evidently, someone wants you home in a hurry."

"And I think I know who, Warrant Officer," Sam answered with a smile.

"If you'd like to get some rest and maybe some food, we have quarters prepared, and I can escort you to the mess." As all three showed a reluctance to leave the ward, he continued, "I'll notify you as soon as the doctors have completed their evaluation, Special Agent Hanna."

Sam looked at both Anna and Garrison and then turned to the officer, "That sounds good. I think we could all do with some rest, and I know I'd appreciate a good meal."

With that, the three of them turned and followed the officer out of the ward, and in the examination room, the doctors continued to assess G's condition.

A few hours later, Sam returned to the ward and searched for the doctor. He found him as he exited a patient's room.

"Doctor Thompson?"

The doctor finished his notes on his tablet and looked up. "Special Agent Hanna," he said as he put out a hand and gave Sam a firm handshake. "Let me guess, you want to know the result of our examination of Special Agent Callen."

"I do."

As the doctor and Sam walked back to the nurse's station, the doctor had a question. "What exactly happened to Agent Callen? His injuries are not consistent with normal combat action."

Sam answered the question but kept the information to a minimum, "He was captured and interrogated."

"I see," the doctor nodded as he scrolled through G's medical information. "Does this happen often in his position as an NCIS Special Agent? His medical records are rather extensive."

"It happens more than it should, doctor," Sam admitted. He waited for the doctor to continue. "How is he?"

"He'll live—but for how long, is up to him. You're his partner, Agent Hanna?"

"I am."

"Then I'll be honest: if Agent Callen doesn't take better care of himself—and by that I mean avoiding traumatic events such as being shot, beaten, and general physical abuse—I'm not sure that he'll live to see 10 more years. The body can only be subjected to so many traumas before it can no longer repair itself."

Sam felt his anger—at himself and at G—growing. He had told G countless times to take care of himself, but G didn't listen. And Sam was angry with himself because he hadn't followed through, he hadn't been insistent enough, hadn't nagged G enough, hadn't done enough. Dom, and how Sam could have done more to prepare him for this work, filled his mind. Sure, G had years of experience—more than any of them on the team—but his body had also suffered years of abuse, and unlike Sam, whose SEAL training had prepared him for the rigors of war and enemy action, G's "training" had been in foster homes where he had endured physical and emotional trauma and neglect for years. And now it was catching up with him. And if G didn't make a conscious effort to take better care of his body, his prediction—jokingly made years ago—that he'd be killed on the job before his body gave out, might not come true. His body might give out first. But not on Sam's watch. He wasn't prepared to work with another partner now or in five years or in ten years. Sam had a partner, and he was going to do everything he could—everything he needed to do—to make sure G remained his partner until they both decided it was time to retire.

The doctor continued, "That being said, Agent Callen will be ready for transport tonight. It's my professional opinion that returning to his home environment as soon as possible will benefit his recovery. None of his injuries—in and of themselves—are life-threatening, and a medic will accompany him to ensure that his condition is monitored."

"Thank you, doctor," and Sam shook his hand again, "for letting us continue home and for your frank evaluation."

"No need to thank me, Agent Hanna. It's my job." He gave Sam a look that said he'd given far too many of these evaluations during his career, and then turned to check in on other patients. Sam walked over to G's bed. He was still sedated and connected to an IV, but Sam was glad that they would be going home. That's where they needed to be. He left G sleeping and went to tell Anna and Garrison that they'd be leaving tonight.

Early the next morning, Hetty called Kensi and Deeks into Ops and then sent everyone out except Nell and Eric.

"Mr. Beale, please secure OPS," she said and waited until the room had been secured from outside surveillance before continuing. "Nothing said in this room today leaves this room. Is that understood?" She surveyed everyone and her expression was one of absolute seriousness.

"Understood," Kensi and Deeks said in unison.

"Absolutely understood," Nell answered.

"Ditto," Eric offered following Nell's response.

Satisfied, Hetty continued. "Good. Assistant Director Granger has already been briefed." Hetty paused and then continued, "I spoke with Mr. Hanna earlier today. He spoke with Mr. Callen, and they agreed that the following information should be shared with the entire team. Mr. Callen, Mr. Hanna, and Ms. Kolcheck will be arriving at Pendleton today."

There was a general sense of relief expressed by everyone in the room and smiles appeared on their faces. Hetty did not smile as she continued.

"Mr. Callen's condition, while not life-threatening, will require that he be out for an extended period for recuperation." There was absolute silence at this announcement and they all waited for Hetty to continue. "The method of Mr. Callen's escape is not to be disclosed; it is absolutely essential—for his continued safety and for the continued safety of his father—that this rescue operation not be known by anyone outside of this room."

Kensi caught her breath, "Callen's father got out?"

"Yes. As you know, Mr. Callen's abduction was an attempt by the Russian government to recapture his father and return him to prison. However, Mr. Hanna and Ms. Kolcheck were able—with his father's assistance—to rescue Mr. Callen and provide plausible evidence that Mr. Callen escaped on his own and that, during that escape, his father was killed."

Hetty paused again and when she continued, her voice revealed her frustration, "Someone in our office leaked Mr. Callen's identity to our Russian counterparts. Until this individual is discovered and apprehended, there must be no mention of Mr. Callen's father and no mention of the role of Mr. Hanna or Ms. Kolcheck in his rescue. If any suggestion that Mr. Callen's father is alive should surface, this scenario may very well repeat itself—and both Mr. Callen and his father may not survive." She looked at the faces of everyone in the room. This was not the first time they had been asked to maintain secrecy for the safety of one of their own. They had never failed to do so, and they would not fail now. And Hetty knew that there was a renewed urgency in finding the person responsible for leaking G's information. Until they did, none of them were safe.

It was almost two weeks before Russian intelligence sent agents to Belarus to check on Sergey's operation. By that time, the Belarusian authorities had begun an investigation and had determined that there had been six men at the old air base, of whom five had been killed, and one had escaped in a third vehicle. The Russians requested a viewing of the victims to determine if any were Russian citizens, and after their examination, the agents determined that one of the victims was, in fact, Nikita Reznikov. The result of their examination in addition to the message intercepted from American intelligence notifying their embassy in Lithuania that an American citizen would be crossing into Lithuania from Belarus, satisfied the pencil pushers in the intelligence office that they could finally close the file on Nikita Reznikov and move on to more important matters.

Sam pulled the van into G's driveway and parked behind his house. Once parked, he moved to the back and helped G out and then supported him—much to G's annoyance—to his house. Anna and Garrison followed them. Inside, the group was greeted by Hetty, Arkady, and Michelle. G tried to hide his discomfort at being the center of attention but was entirely unsuccessful. Arkady, as usual, felt no discomfort or embarrassment and welcomed all of them with genuine fondness.

"Callen, it is good to have you home, old friend!" and when he moved to give G a hug, Sam stiff-armed him with a smile.

"When he's feeling a little better, Arkady."

"Of course," and then Arkady turned immediately to Anna, his arms open wide. "Anna!"

She rolled her eyes but did not avoid his embrace, "Hello, Arkady." He then moved to get her something to drink or eat. Garrison stood just inside the kitchen, and after Anna said hello to Michelle and fixed herself a glass of water, Arkady went to greet Garrison.

He spoke to him in Russian, "It's good to see you after all these years."

Garrison took Arkady's hand, "And you. It's been a long time." Arkady then continued as host and introduced Garrison to Michelle and offered drinks all around.

Sam helped Callen to the sofa and Hetty came over to sit beside him. She looked up at him and smiled. "Welcome home, Mr. Callen."

G looked at her and smiled easily, although still obviously in pain, "It's good to be home, Hetty, but you didn't need to come—and bring everyone with you."

"Oh, but I did, Mr. Callen," she replied as she turned to Sam, who was greeting Michelle with a hug and a kiss. "Mr. Hanna, would you join us for just a moment, please?" Sam walked over to the sofa, and smiled at Hetty.

"Thank you for getting us home so quickly, Hetty."

"I can't have my team spread out all over the world, Mr. Hanna. Not when there's work to be done here, so bringing you home quickly could be considered rather selfish on my part."

"Even so, thank you."

"You're welcome. But that's not the reason I want to talk with you, Mr. Hanna. I want to tell you that I expect you to ensure that Mr. Callen follows the advice of his doctors and commits to a schedule of rest and recuperation."

G started to complain, but Sam interrupted him and waved for Michelle to come join them.

"Already ahead of you, Hetty." Michelle stood by Sam, smiled at Hetty, and then gave G that 'don't mess with me' look. Sam continued, "I've enlisted Michelle to help me keep G on track with his rest and recuperation."

G's expression was one of total betrayal as he listened to his partner outline his plan for the next few weeks. Hetty, on the other hand, was immensely pleased with Sam's total commitment to G's recovery.

"First, I'm taking the key to G's car so that he will be unable to make any unnecessary trips during his recuperative process. Michelle or I will be taking to him to all of his doctor appointments and receiving full updates on his progress. Michelle will also be checking on him spontaneously during the day, to ensure that he is, in fact, not engaging in any behavior that would interfere with his recovery. And I will be providing nutritious meals to speed his recovery."

"I think that must be illegal or something," G complained, but no one was listening.

"Excellent, Mr. Hanna," Hetty said with satisfaction as she stood up. "And now, I think, Mr. Callen should get some rest."

"Agree," Sam said as he helped G off the sofa and to his bedroom.

Arkady, seeing that G was leaving, went to say goodbye, "Callen, it's good to have you home—honestly."

"Thanks, Arkady. It's good to be home—honestly."

"If you need anything, just call."

G smiled and winked at him, "I may just do that."

Sam, still supporting G, looked at Arkady sharply, "While G's under my care, Arkady, you are not to do anything he asks unless you clear it with me first. Understood?"

Arkady held up his hands in a show of surrender, "Understood." And then when Sam's back was turned, he smiled and used the hand signal for "call me." When Arkady turned back to say goodbye to the others, Hetty was glaring at him. "Henrietta?"

"Arkady, I don't want you calling Mr. Callen or answering any of his calls while he's recovering. Is that understood?"

"What? You don't think I care about Callen?"

"No contact with Mr. Callen while he's recovering," Hetty stated plainly as Anna moved next to Arkady. "I know where you live."

"Don't worry, Hetty. I'll make sure he leaves Callen alone."

"Okay, okay. I won't contact Callen," Arkady said and then looked from Hetty to Anna. "I'm hurt that you think I don't care about Callen."

"Arkady," Hetty said, "I'm sure you care about Mr. Callen. You just have a way of getting him involved in situations that are not, shall we say, in his best interests."

"Perhaps," he shrugged, "but not now. I promise." Then he smiled and took his leave, bowing slightly to Hetty. "Do svidaniya, everyone."

Sam returned after helping G into bed and he and Michelle also said their good nights. "See you tomorrow, Hetty?"

"Oh no, Mr. Hanna. Take tomorrow off. I'm sure the jet lag will hit once you lie down."

"Thank you, Hetty." Sam then turned and said good night to Anna and Garrison. "Good night, Anna. It was good working with you."

"It was good, Sam," Anna replied smiling. "I can see why Callen values you as his partner."

"Good night, Garrison. I know G is happy that you've come home with him."

"Thank you, Sam, for all you've done."

"I'll see you around. Please call us if you need anything."

After Sam and Michelle left, Hetty came up to Garrison and introduced herself, "Mr. Reznikov, I'm Henrietta Lange. It's good to finally meet you."

Garrison smiled and took her hand, "It's good to finally meet you, as well. I know how much you have done for Grisha throughout his life. Thank you."

"I knew his mother, Clara, your wife. She was a lovely young woman."

"Yes, she was."

"Perhaps later we can have a cup of tea together and talk. I'm sure you must have many questions."

"As I'm sure you must. I would enjoy that."

"Good night, Mr. Reznikov. I'm so glad you're here with Mr. Callen." And with that, she and Garrison shook hands and then she walked out.

Only Anna and Garrison were left. There was a pause, and then Anna said, "Let me show you to the other bedroom."

Garrison followed her down the hall past G's room, and then into the guest bedroom. The futon was made up and there was a small chest. "He leaves the futon made up in case Sam ever needs a place to sleep," Anna said with a smile. "I'll lock up. I'm just going to say good night to Callen."

"Good night, Anna. Thank you."

Anna smiled and walked back to G's room. The door was open a crack, but she pushed it open more and went inside. The room was cool and dark. She walked around the bed to G who was asleep. She gently kissed his forehead and then turned to go. When she reached the door, he spoke.

"You're not staying?" he asked quietly.

"The doctor said you need your rest."

"Rest is only one of the things I need." He paused; she didn't move. "I'm hurt, but I'm not dead."

"You need sleep."

"I have hours of sleep ahead of me."

"I might hurt you."

"Only if you don't stay."

She walked back to the other side of the bed and slipped her clothes off. She slid in beside him. Her fingers moved across his body and felt the bandage on his shoulder and the sutures where Sam had cut him.

"Be gentle," he whispered as he smoothed her hair and let his hands trace the curve of her shoulder, the contour of her waist, the softness of her breast. She melted into him and he felt the small of her back, the firmness of her buttocks, the strength of her thighs. "I dreamed about you in Belarus," he said and then she kissed him.

Later that night, when she nestled against his chest that rose rhythmically with his breath as he slept, Anna opened her eyes. She lifted her head gently and looked at G: his face was kind and strong and, at this moment, peaceful. Anna smiled, settled back, and whispered to herself, "Grisha Alexandrovich Nikolaev Callen, you'll be a wonderful father." And then she fell asleep.


End file.
